The Night of Michelito Loveless's Revenge
by Andamogirl
Summary: Updated story and re-post. Jim West and Artemus Gordon are back in the Secret Service now working under President Benjamin Harrison's direct orders. They meet again with their new arch-enemy, Michelito Loveless, Miguelito Loveless's son. But this time the famous duet becomes a trio with the presence of the dashing Andamo (Mr. Lucky), coming from 1960.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: crossover between the Wild Wild West & Mr. Lucky. Two Ross Martins together! I just couldn't resist the temptation.

Mr. Lucky is a CBS adventure/drama television series that aired from 1959 to 1960. John Vivyan plays the title character Mr. Lucky and Ross Martin portrays Andamo. The two best friends and associates operate a floating casino aboard a luxury yacht called the Fortuna II, bringing them into contact with numerous criminals and people hiding from criminals. Lucky will change their business, later, to a floating restaurant.

Post series and post second TV movie 'More Wild Wild West'. Our two heroes are older (but not old) and Jim still has his moustache.

References to the following episodes "The Night of the Surreal McCoy", "The Night of the Lord Of Limbo", "The Night of the Assassin" and "The Night That Terror Stalked The Town."

Reference to Mr. Lucky first episode (pilot), "The Magnificent Bribe".

Warning: graphic violence & temporary major characters death.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

 **TEASER**

WWW

 _Somewhere in the Painted Desert, Arizona, July 7, 1890_

Looking around him, Special Agent Artemus Gordon of the US Secret Service removed his hat to wipe his sweat-soaked forehead with the sleeve of his blue jacket.

He used it to fan himself for a moment; lifted his hand to bar the light from his squinted eyes and grimaced. The blistering sun was beating down on a seemingly endless red-sand-desert which stretched to the horizon, around him.

There was nothing here, just rocks, hardy shrubs, clumps of dry grasses, dust and the barren rough mountains, striped in all shades of ocher, indistinct in the hazy distance, their shape quivering in the harsh, oppressive heat.

He fanned his face with one hand and then ran it through his messy sweat-dampened curls before putting his light-gray Stetson back on his head.

He took a few small sips of tepid water from his canteen, moistening his parched throat. Then he hung it back on the saddle and softly patted the neck of his Cheyenne horse called Vovó'hasé'haméhe (Spotted Horse in Cheyenne language), the gelding standing, like him, in the almost-non-existent shade of a clump of stunted trees, barely protecting them from the implacable sun.

Even the horse was drenched.

He sighed tugging at the collar of his shirt and unbuttoned it a bit more. "It's this kind of mission that makes me regret having rejoined the Secret Service, Vo - this place is a furnace! And I'm too old to wander in the desert, babysitting an archeologist and keeping an eye on the men he hired without knowing anything about them…"He sighed. "But it's my assignment, and I have to fulfill it," he said with a tired smile.

The Spotted Blanket Appaloosa horse bobbed his head up and down as if he understood and agreed and rubbed his muzzle against his master's chest in affection.

His boots covered with red ocher sand, Artemus headed toward a group of boulders thinking about enjoying a big cool glass of water with pieces of ice floating on top.

Moistening his chapped lips with his tongue, he joined Professor Steven Hawkins of the Washington Archaeological Museum, dressed in immaculate white from head to toe ("white clothes repel heat and keep away the danger of heatstroke" he loved to say), , sitting in the shade there, hiding from the implacable sun, reading a thick book.

The younger man leading the archaeological expedition was looking at an engraving, lost in the middle of a paragraph, he noticed. It represented a statue of a god, half-human, and half-bird of prey, placed on a high pedestal, resting against a wall. Intrigued, he knelt beside the archaeologist and head cocked to one side, he asked, "What is it, professor?"

Hawkins smiled and replied, "It's the statue of Otepek, Mr. Gordon. Otepek was the god of Family and Ancestors for the Kep'laas, a tribe who lived in the region about 2000 years ago. It's the only drawing of it – and I don't know if it really looks like that or what its size is. We'll see it for ourselves later, when we find it. No one knows where that drawing comes from either." He glanced at the engraving of the divinity again and added, "And we don't know many things about the god. We only know that, if a member of the tribe wanted to talk to one of his ancestors, to seek advice for example, he or she had to come to the temple, to the Sacred Chamber. Then, once there he or she had to pronounce the god's name three times." He paused to pull out a kerchief from the right pocket of his dusty jacket and used it to mop his damp forehead. Then he continued, "The god then left the stars where he lived with the other gods and goddesses to 'inhabit' his statue, during the time it took for the request. Then, when the person had obtained satisfaction, the god went back 'home'." He placed his kerchief back where it had been and added, "Otepek could allow people to travel back in time to talk directly to their ancestors." He looked at the older man again, noticing that the federal agent was clearly skeptical. He smiled. "But before granting a man or a woman to travel backward into the past, the god read his or her mind, knowing instantly everything about him or her. If he was a good man, he could go, same thing with a woman, and if he or she wasn't, they weren't allowed to go."

Standing up, because his right knee hurt, Artie said, "probably to ensure that a 'bad man' or a 'bad woman' does no evil deed which could change the past, thus modifying the future."

Hawkins nodded. "It's not specified in the book, but it's sound logic, yes. Then the voyage back in time would begin," he said.

Rubbing his stubbled and itching chin pensively Artemus asked, "What happened when the time traveler wanted to go back home?"

Hawkins replied, "That's simple. Otepek brought the traveler back when he sensed that he or she was ready to go home. He was a god! Gods were omnipotent!"

His brain still in scientific mode Artemus lifted an eyebrow and adopted a quizzical smile. "You're talking about time travel, professor. I don't think it's possible." He furrowed his brow as he suddenly remembered him and Jim being transported into the past – multiple times - by Colonel Vautrain. "Forget what I said, No, it is possible to travel in time."

Hawkins was surprised. "What made you change your mind so rapidly?"

Unconsciously touching his shoulder where he had been hit when Colonel Vautrain had shot him, Artie said, "It's a long story… and it's classified."

Professor Hawkins continued. "With Otepek's help it was possible to travel in time, but only backward to meet ancestors, not ahead into the future."

Pointing at the top of a hill covered with rock formations, stunted creosote bushes and Joshua Trees, visible shimmering waves of heat rising off of it in the heavy air, Artie asked, "Are you sure the temple of Otepek is up there?"

Prof. Hawkins nodded. "Oh yes! But with time the entrance has been covered with sand, rocks and bushes. But it's here, and we'll find it." He pulled out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket. He unfolded it on his knees and added, "I consulted a very ancient map before I came here and it indicates the place, exactly. This is a copy of it. The statue is inside that temple, I'm sure. That's why we came here, Mr. Gordon, to find it. I want to bring it back with me to Washington." He beamed. 'It will be the _pièce majeure_ of the exhibition about the Ancient lost civilizations which will take place in September at the Archaeological Museum."

Sweat dripping off his forehead, Artie, wiped it again with the back of his hand this time. "I wouldn't want to be a bird of ill omen Professor, but… if this place is known; perhaps the temple was plundered a long time ago and the statue stolen by looters."

Hawkins shook his head. "I seriously doubt it. 150 years ago a hermit living in the vicinity found the temple of Otepek – with its door intact, the seals intact too - and drew a map of it. When his body was found by travelers, or what was left of it, they found the map on the body but didn't pay attention to it. Everyone in the region knew that the old man was crazy and that map was certainly worthless, a delusion. They took it anyway and moved ahead. It somehow ended up in a library in Baltimore, where I found it accidentally a month ago. It had slid down between two bookshelves and was long forgotten." He pocketed his map.

Intrigued Artie frowned. "Seals?"

The archaeologist nodded. "Yes, seals. I suppose that the temple was guarded by priests who put seals on the door after each visitor was gone, to protect the statue. The legend tells that it's a solid gold statue."

His sixth sense sounding alarm bells in his head, Artie said, "That temple is probably booby-trapped, professor. A lot of 'lost' temples are. That explains why they are lost. No one was left alive – or they died shortly after, before they could say anything about them."

Prof. Hawkins looked up at the top of the mountain. "That's why you're here, Mr. Gordon. If this temple is booby-trapped, you will find the traps meant to harm or kill people and neutralize them, to protect me – I mean protect all of us, that's part of your job, isn't it?" then he glanced up at the older man standing in front of him and smiled in sympathy. "It's not going to be easy for you to get up there…"

Feeling offended, Artemus scowled and pursed his lips. "I may not be a young man anymore but I'm perfectly capable of climbing up there, Professor." Irritated he added, "If I was unable to carry out this mission, the President would never have sent me here!"

He headed back toward Vovó'hasé'haméhe while thinking, 'Face it, Artemus, you are an old man… Deny it all you want, it won't change the fact that you are 60 and have arthritis in your right knee… And you have more years behind you than ahead of you, old boy…' And on top of that the burning sun was sapping his energy. 'I hate deserts, I hate heat,' he added in his mind.

He stopped and heaved a long sigh. He looked at the top of the mountain outlined on the deep blue sky, crisp and clear and shook his head. "It's not going to be a walk in the park to get up there…" he let out.

He removed his loosened tie, sliding in the pocket of damp pants and removed his suit jacket, dropping it across Vo's hot saddle.

Lowering his gaze, he glanced at the group of men of all ages sitting and chatting a little further away next to motionless tumbleweed, in the rare shade of a group of twisted and skinny trees.

Rolling up his sleeves, he continued to muse: Hawkins had recruited those burly men in a saloon to help him carry his equipment and to help him to clear the temple of everything that had accumulated over time, sand, bushes, etc. hiding it completely. He had told them that he wanted to find the temple of Otepek, a divinity from an obscure tribe that lived 2000 years ago in the Painted Desert. They had eagerly pocketed the offered 100 dollars, their eyes glittering with greed, thinking that an ancient lost temple usually meant 'mountains' of gold, jewelry and precious stones.

He was convinced that they would try to steal all these treasures if they existed, or if they did not exist, the statue of Otepek.

If it was there of course.

In any case, he was sure they would try to get rid of unwanted witnesses, Hawkins and him. He had to be very careful and keep watching them to avoid the worst: their demise.

Feeling the sweat drip down his back, he glanced at the archaeologist, reading his book again, and continued his musing: Hawkins was the son of an old friend of President Benjamin Harrison – and the President had sent him here as an escort to protect the Professor – alone, Jim being on another assignment in Denver.

He sighed and dried his palm on his blue pants. 'And he'll need protection. If there's effectively gold, jewelry and precious stones inside the temple, those men over there wouldn't hesitate to kill Hawkins and him too… "Unless we all die before reaching the Sacred chamber," he said.

He shivered but not with cold.

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 _Much later, in the temple of Otepek_

Moaning, Artemus Gordon opened his eyes slowly, his head throbbing. "What the hell happened? He mumbled to himself, disoriented.

He groaned at the pain spiking at the base of his skull.

He found himself lying on his back, on cold, hard, slightly damp ground, in semi-darkness. The air was cool in contrast with the stifling heat of the desert.

He propped himself up on his elbows and then into a sitting position, pain flaring in his right knee and he clenched his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside.

Confused he cast a look around him trying to get his bearings. He was sitting on the floor of a relatively small room built with large stones painted with bright colors, forming geometrical intricate patterns. It was dimly lit by a couple of flaming torches stuck in a ring that was bolted to the wall. There was small statue of a god, half-human, and half-bird of prey, like the Egyptian god Horus, placed on a high pedestal, resting against the back red-painted wall. "Otepek!"

He looked around him and his breath caught in his throat in surprise as he discovered behind him a dozen dead bodies sprawled on the large slabs of the stone-covered-floor. There was no blood.

He pushed himself up, swaying but stable and rubbed the back of his throbbing head where he could feel a lump forming. "Ow!"

He picked up his hat, his aching bad knee creaking and placed it back on his head.

He moved toward the corpses, zigzagging among them and noticed they were riddled with black darts. Steven Hawkins wasn't amongst the dead fortunately, he noticed. "They have been poisoned," he said as he searched and found tiny holes in a wall, placed in three rows, on several levels and at regular intervals. He nodded. "This place was booby-trapped like you thought it was, old boy. Hmm… Those ancient tribes knew how to get rid of unwanted visitors," he added. Suddenly worried he did a quick survey of his whole body: no darts. He sighed in deep relief and then rolled his eyes. "Artemus, you big idiot! You should be dead by now." He frowned, puzzled and asked himself, "Why am I still alive?"

He groaned as his memories came rushing back…

He remembered entering the room first – a rifle pointed at his back. The bad guys – the men that Hawkins had hired - had forced him to enter the Sacred Chamber, in case there were hidden deadly traps. He had slowly moved ahead, dreading being killed at any moment by lethal darts, arrows, spears, etc. coming out from the thick walls or emerging from the ceiling – or both.

He remembered something else then. Excited at the sight of the statuette, made with solid gold, the money-driven men had rushed toward it… walking on several slabs that had sunk under their weight, triggering the antique defense mechanism located beneath them, to be stopped literally 'dead in their tracks' by dozens of poisonous darts a few seconds later.

He had frozen and remained immobile – hearing Hawkins breathing raggedly with fear behind him. "Don't move Professor! There may be other traps to be triggered." he had said. Then surveying the floor, he had noticed that the sunken slabs had a geometrical pattern in their middle. He spotted others placed here and there, still 'intact' and ready to trigger other deadly weapons.

But before he could tell this to the archeologist, the younger man had made a bee-line to the god's small statue, grinning, repeating "I found it! It's mine! It's mine! I'm going to be famous!" Fortunately avoiding walking on the slabs marked with a geometrical pattern.

He remembered that he had managed to 'safely' tackle the archaeologist to the floor before he could reach the statue, and then had used a martial art technique that Jim had taught him a long time ago: by applying pressure near the base of Hawkins's neck, at the shoulder, he had nearly instantly rendered the other man unconscious. Then, looking at the statuette of Otepek, pushed by his inquisitive scientific mind, he had pronounced the god's name three times, to see if the legend was true, but he seriously doubted it… and, suddenly a bright and paralyzing light coming out from nowhere had instantly enveloped him.

He felt himself grow cold. The hair on his neck stood on end.

He couldn't explain it but he had felt a 'presence' in his head, invading his mind, starting to probe it. As he couldn't speak he had thought 'Who are you? What do you want? Go away! Leave me alone!' He had heard a voice, in his head.

[My name is Otepek; I am the god of Family and Ancestors. I want to know you thoroughly, to see if your soul is pure.] The voice was deep, vibrant, masculine, commanding.

Right after that, Otepek had moved throughout his memories, and then explored his knowledge and experience. After that, and he didn't know how, the god, had read his soul. He had tried to repel him, in vain. He felt naked, exposed.

He took a calming breath.

Otepek knew everything about him now.

Still musing, Artie stopped in front of the small statue, remembering what had followed. Otepek had "said", [You are a good man Artemus Gordon. You are worthy to travel back in time to meet the ancestor of your choice. Don't worry I will bring you back to your time when I sense you are ready. You miss your father a lot, and Ulysses S. Grant too… even if you were not relatives, you loved him like he was your surrogate father, and Grant had a father's love for you. I can send you back in time to meet one of them. You have to choose who you want to meet.].

He had been very tempted to go back in time to see his beloved father, but had said, 'No I have a mission, maybe another time…"' Then, the light paralyzing him had suddenly vanished, freeing him.

Disoriented, he wondered how much time had elapsed since he had spoken the name of the god three times in a row. A few minutes? Less than that? He had the feeling that it had lasted hours.

And…he remembered that he had been hit on the back of his head after that. But before losing consciousness, through a gray veil, he had seen the younger man holding a gun… 'a few minutes then' he had realized, then everything had faded to black.

Ending his flashback, he frowned, puzzled. The statuette was still here… Where was Hawkins? He turned around carefully… to find himself face to face with the younger man. He was holding a gun in his right hand and a hammer and a chisel in the other one. "Let me guess, the statuette is fixed to the pedestal and you want me to remove it from it."

He looked down at the slabs around him. Several of them had geometrical patterns in their middle. "Don't walk on the slabs with a geometrical pattern! They trigger booby-traps, Professor."

Hawkins dropped the hammer and the chisel at Artemus's feet and said, "Thanks, but I gathered that after seeing the sunken slabs." He paused and added, "The statuette is fixed to the pedestal, yes, and you're going to remove it. Starting now."

Suddenly they both heard a loud rumbling from above causing everything around them to shake. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling, crashing down to the ground and breaking into pieces, clattering to the ground and burying the dead bodies.

Hawkins took a step back, frightened. "What-what's happening?" He stammered as the ground shook beneath their feet.

Moving to the side as the ground started to crack open with a roar, Artemus said, "The temple is crumbling." He paused and they both heard the deep rumble of shifting rock. "Damn! I told you not to use dynamite to open the stone doorway giving access to the temple. But you didn't listen to me. Very old structures like this are fragile. Let's get out of here."

Huge chunks of stone were now falling everywhere.

Hawkins waved his gun menacingly. "Not without the statuette! Remove it! Do it! DO IT!" he said, as his voice roughened with raw desire to own the small statue. He cocked the hammer and added, "And you should hurry up if you don't want to die."

Using the hammer and the chisel Artemus managed to un-fix the statuette from its pedestal as the loud rumbling continued, as the floor shook violently, as the ceiling continued to come down. He dropped the tools at his feet, and, holding Otepek's gold representation against him, he joined Hawkins in the corridor just as another violent shake hit.

A few seconds later the sacred chamber collapsed with a deafening, thunderous thud.

Fear running in their veins, the two men ran at top speed (avoiding the deadly slabs) as the ceiling continued to fall all around them, miraculously avoiding to being hit by falling debris, as the fracturing floor was opening, all along the hallway leading outside.

They left the crumbling temple at top speed. The brightness of the sun was blinding, forcing the two men to squint against its harshness… before a good part of the hill collapsed on itself, creating a vast crater at the top, a dark cloud of sandy dust hanging over it.

They ran down the hill as fast as they could, or what was left of it, zigzagging frenetically, dodging enormous rolling boulders.

Then, when the avalanche of rocks was finally stilled, standing next to a big Saguaro, breathing heavily, Hawkins pointed his revolver at Artemus again. "Put the statuette on the buckboard and wrap it in the blankets you'll find there. Do it!" He commanded breathlessly.

Panting, Artie complied and then bent over, dust falling from his hat, hair and shoulders, and he placed his hands on his knees. "I'm too old for this," he rasped.

The archaeologist took a step backward in the red sand, "Good, now move away from the buckboard Mr. Gordon… I'm sorry, but I can't let you live. I have threatened a federal agent; it's a major federal offense, and I don't want to end up in a cell for many years. I have much to do," he said, his voice calm and measured.

He was ready to pull the trigger when a rattlesnake coiled in the shadow sprung from under the vehicle, its black tongue flickering, frightening both the archaeologist and the horses.

Hawkins instinctively fired at the rattlesnake but couldn't avoid Artemus's fist that came flying his way - at his face. He dropped like a stone to the red sandy ground, flat on his back. Black out.

Rubbing his knuckles, Artie sighed. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered to himself and groaned as his headache spiked.

WWW

 _Desert Springs, Arizona, three days later, on the Wanderer_

His legs trembling beneath him, Artemus Gordon managed to climb onto the rear train platform at a snail's pace, his footsteps slow and clumsy. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him and he was sore all over. "It's no fun growing old," he muttered.

Three days and nights traveling across the Painted Desert to reach Desert Springs, had killed his back, bruised his butt, his legs and drained his strength.

He opened the door of the parlor car and placed the wooden box containing the statuette of Otepek he was holding onto the floor, to his left, leaning against the work table so he wouldn't fall over. Shoulders hunched, he removed his hat and dropped it on the chair starting a mini cloud of dust.

He wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip and moaned staggering like a drunk. "Boy! All I need now is to get rid of my dusty clothes, take a bath to remove the grime of my over-fatigued body, then hit my bunk for at least a week of uninterrupted sleep," he said before looking at his partner in disbelief. James West had just left the galley, holding a mug of steaming coffee and was now heading toward him, smiling. "Jim? What are you doing here?"

Pulling the older man against him, Jim hugged Artie with one arm. "It's good to see you too, Artie. Welcome back home. And to respond to you, I live here. This is my train too, buddy. President Harrison gave the Wanderer to us both, you remember?"

Smiling too, Artemus returned the embrace warmly. "Yes I remember. Our old train, the best gift ever." He parted from his companion and said, "I'm surprised to find you here. I thought you were still in Denver arresting a ring of counterfeiters."

Placing his mug on the work table, Jim replied. "I did it with the help of the local police then I joined you here. It was a quick and easy job. I arrived this morning." Then he took Artie by his shoulders and examined him from head to toes. The usually dressed-up and always impeccable and immaculate Artemus Gordon (except when he played the role of an old dirty and stinky trapper for example) was wearing rumpled, dirty clothes and was reeking of both acrid sweat and horse's smell. His hair was damp, covered with dust and sand and matted. His face was sunburnt and grime-covered. He had deep dark circles underneath his eyes, a few days stubble and looked utterly exhausted. "You look like hell, buddy," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "Are you alright?"

Rubbing a weary hand over his tired face Artie said, "More or less." He winced. Every single bone and muscle of his body felt sore. He added "And I look like hell, because I was in hell Jim – or something very, very, close. The outward trip was okay, the heat was bearable, but the return trip was absolutely terrible. That scorching heat was awful, it was like traveling through molten lava. Hawkins and I we could barely breathe, the hot air was burning our lungs and that damn sand was everywhere! And I mean everywhere… including in very sensitive places. Fortunately we had enough food, but not enough water to either clean ourselves or shave ourselves, just to drink, barely." He grimaced, feeling disgusting and scratched his several days' worth of stubble. He hadn't showered, bathed and shaved in days. Licking his parched lips, he suddenly realized how thirsty he was. "Whiskey…" He breathed.

In a flash Jim rushed toward the sideboard, poured whiskey into a glass, up to the rim and then handed it to his partner. "Here, buddy."

Nodding, Artie took the glass of liquor and drank it eagerly. He lowered it to the coffee table and said, "Thanks, I needed that." He touched his itchy crotch wondering how sand could have ended up there with such tight underwear and added, "I came here directly – no, not directly." He sighed and rubbed his scruffy chin. "Boy! I'm so tired that I can't think straight." He paused and added, "I asked the sheriff of Desert Springs to lock Hawkins in a cell, and then I came here." He blinked a few times trying to keep his fatigue-fogged and slowly shutting-down brain to function, just a little more. "Oh! Yes, and I was almost killed… " He trailed off, his voice raspy. He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. "Y'know, as usual, another assignment, another close call, the routine," he finished.

Blood froze in Jim's veins. He stared at his companion. "You what? That mission wasn't supposed to be dangerous; it was just baby-sitting duty, nothing dangerous or tiring. That's why Malone gave it to you… Ooops!" Then he cringed. He shouldn't have said that.

Shoulders hunched, Artie's face scrunched up. "I now know why we were separated. Let's give something easy to the old man to spare his _old bones_ … " he said, upset.

Embarrassed, Jim sheepishly said, "It wasn't my idea, Artemus, but Malone's."

Looking straight in his partner's eyes, Artemus, deeply hurt, feeling betrayed, said, "Yes, but you _knew_! And you didn't take up my defense. You could have said to Malone, 'No way! Artie's in tip-top shape, I want him with me on this assignment, we never separate…"

Raising a finger, Jim interrupted Artie, "Actually, we do work together, but separated as you usually go first wherever our mission is, disguised for a reconnaissance job."

Frowning, Artie continued, "But no, you didn't. I know I am 60 but I'm still capable of doing what I did before when I was younger, you know."

Pause. He rubbed his stiffening and aching knee.

Releasing a heavy sigh, a more realistic Artie added, "Okay, I'm doing my best to," his expression defeated and tired. He gave a weak smile. "At least, my mind is still sharp!"

Feeling bad Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, Artie, but if I didn't oppose Malone's decision, it's because you were still lying in a bed in the Washington Military Hospital three weeks ago, buddy. You almost died and Dr. Henderson did another of his miracles to bring you back. Malone knew that too. He and I both wanted to spare you, and that mission was an easy one, well… it was supposed to be an easy one…"

Blinking slowly Artie sighed. "Like you, James-my-boy… I'm a magnet for trouble. Where I go, danger follows me closely." He gave Jim an 'I forgive you' smile and his eyes softened. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you anymore, Jim, I understand why you did that. You wanted to protect me…"

Feeling immensely relieved Jim smiled. "You're like my brother, Artie. You're family. It's natural to want to protect those whom we love…" he said his voice grave and sincere. Reaching out, he pulled Artemus against his chest and they hugged, again, longer this time. "Love you, Artie."

Resting his head on Jim's shoulder, eyes half-closed, struggling to stay awake, Artie rasped, "Love you two Jim. God, I'm so exhausted…" He swayed as he looked like he was about to collapse and he leant against his partner for support.

Pushing Artemus back by his shoulders, Jim said, "I know you are buddy." And watched his companion rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

He caught Artie in his arms as he began to tilt. Then he gently maneuvered his best friend onto the closest couch, seated him on it, furrowed his brow and asked, "What happened up there?"

Mustering what was left of his declining strength (not much), and while he still could make himself coherent, Artie said, "An ancient temple in the Painted Desert almost fell on my head. It's a long story; I'll tell you it later, not now. I can't think straight." He placed his hand in front of his mouth and his jaw cracked on a new, wide yawn. Then he rubbed again his puffy and bloodshot eyes. "I think I seriously need to take a bath," he added, glancing at his grimy hands. His vision swam. He closed his eyes drowsily and rested his head feeling like it weighed a ton, onto the first thing within reach, onto Jim's shoulder, again. "But… I think I nee-eed to slee-eep before tha-at… so t'red" he slurred his breathing slowing a little, sagging against his partner.

His eyes slipped shut.

Noticing that Artemus was falling asleep, his partner having reached the end of his endurance, Jim gently moved his best friend onto his back and placed a cushion under his head.

He quickly divested his companion of his dusty jacket and sweat-soaked shirt and dropped them on the carpeted floor, wrinkling his nose. Then he removed Artie's dusty boots and smelly socks. "Ugh…" He let out unable to hold back his disgust. Nausea wasn't far away.

Cracking open one bleary chocolate eye, Artie breathed, "S'ry, smell bad, stink… was sweltering heat, no shower," he mumbled.

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yes, you do." Then he continued stripping his companion. He unbuckled Artie's gun belt and his belt before setting it on the coffee table.

He finally removed Artemus's dusty pants adding them to the pile of clothes, leaving the older man in his black, short underwear.

Once he was half-naked, Artemus rolled to his side on the couch too small for his large frame. He curled uncomfortably in himself, arms folded.

Jim picked up the tartan coverlet folded on the twin seated sofa, shook it out and then draped it over his partner's relaxing form. "Sleep well buddy…"

Eyes closed Artie mumbled blissfully, "Mmmmmm…" and his breathing evened out. A few seconds later his muscles went slack.

Jim opened the windows to make air currents and lowered the blinds. He dimed the lights and then picked up the filthy clothes.

He was tempted to throw them off the train but Artie was particularly fond of his tailcoat blue suit he had paid a fortune to his tailor in Washington for, so he rolled everything in a reeking ball and holding it at arm's length, he headed toward the laundry room.

He dropped them in the laundry basket on top of the other dirty clothes already there and glanced at Artie's latest invention, an incredible steam-powered washing machine combining washing and rinsing and water removal by spinning. It had too the ability to fill and drain water by itself. They could do their own laundry now instead of having to give their laundry to launderers during a stopover in a city. And Artie had in mind another very practical invention, another machine which would be able to remove moisture from a load of clothing, bedding and other textiles after they were washed in a washing machine. Because they now had to dry everything on indoor clothes lines stretched out across the lab.

He smiled, "Good old Artie," he said, thinking that his best friend would never cease to amaze him with his inventions.

Still smiling, he headed back to the parlor car.

He sat at the work table and began writing his report on his last assignment, keeping an eye on Artie – who was dead to the world - who never moved a muscle.

His face was peaceful, his breath was steady and quiet.

Jim frowned, upset. He should have said no to Malone, he should have accompanied Artemus there, in that desert, in that temple, and promised to himself he'd never do a solo mission again. "Rest up now, Artie, you earned it. You are safe."

The older man let out a soft snore.

WWW

 _The next evening_

Rubbing one reddened eye with his knuckles, Artemus's face scrunched into one of disgust as he stripped off his smelly underwear crusted with dust and sand.

He pushed it to the side with his foot and turned on the water of the shower waiting for it to heat up. He ran a hand through his hair, greasy and dirty and exhaled a long sigh. "Ah, a shower… wonderful sight!"

Moving like a very old man, hurting all over, feeling like he was 100, he stepped under the strong spray, closed his eyes and braced his hands on the white tiles.

He let out a long moan of pleasure as the hot water made contact with his filthy skin and streamed over his fatigued muscles.

But after the 24 hour more coma-like nap, he felt much better, and to be in tip-top shape, he'd hibernate in his bed till they reached Washington.

He took a step back, away from the cascading water and then reached out toward the shelf to his right and picked up a bottle of sandalwood shampoo sitting there. He poured half of it on his soaked head and he slowly worked his fingers into his messy hair, lathering it up, massaging his scalp.

He groaned in pleasure this time.

Once his wild curls were entangled and clean, he started to rinse the shampoo out. Then he grabbed a bar of soap from the shelf and noticed that it wasn't the usual lemon-scented soap that he and Jim used, because it was rose, and raised the bar to his nose and inhaled.

It smelled of roses.

Using his deep baritone voice, he called, "Jim! Come here! Now!"

The door opened a few seconds later and Jim found himself face to face with a stark naked, dripping wet Artie holding a bar of soap. "What? Are you okay?" he worriedly asked.

Placing the bar a few inches from his best friend's nose, Artie frowned in suspicion, and asked, "This bar of soap is rose and smells like rose, Jim. It's a woman's soap. Are you cheating on your wife? Because if you do, I'm gonna punch your face!"

First outraged by Artemus's question, Jim sent his partner a black look and then he growled, "What? No! I'm not! I love Juanita. I would never cheat on her…"

Narrowing his eyes, Artie let out, "Says the man who flirted with Carmelita Loveless and kissed her. Did you forget that?"

Crossing his arms on his chest, Jim explained, "Nothing happened between us, Artie. She was attracted to me and I wanted information. We both had what we wanted, that's all. And it was a goodbye kiss. And you know that." He waved a stern finger. "You jump to conclusions too fast, Artie and that doesn't sound like you, but I'm not offended. You're exhausted and your brain is working at its minimum." With a smirk on his lips, he said, "While you were gone, I ran out of soap. I wanted to buy a new bar when I found this one in the dresser of the bathroom. As it looks fairly recent, I suppose it belongs, or rather it belonged – past tense - to your latest conquest, Artie, Carla Martinelli, the lovely Italian actress. She spent three nights here, on the Wanderer… but she didn't sleep much, and you either and you took many showers together… and not just to wash yourselves."

Scowling, Artie sputtered, "What? Because I'm old, I can't have a sex life?"

Retreating toward the door, back to it and facing Artie, ready to dodge any projectile, bar of soap, bottle of shampoo or washcloth – or all of them and not necessarily in that order - Jim smiled soothingly. "I never said that," he said with a mischievous grin on his face. "But next time, find a hotel room. People would like to sleep at night."

Pointing at the door, blushing furiously in embarrassment and glaring at Jim, Artemus commanded, "You! Out! Now!"

Once the door was closed Artie looked down at the bar of soap in his hand and remembered everything… and Carla bringing that bar to the bathroom because she loved roses!

He looked at his reflection in the mirror facing the shower and straightened his back and shoulders. He pulled his waist inand flexed the still hard muscles of his arms. He remained broad and strong, hard muscle still faithfully adorning his aging body. Then he brought his soaked hair back with his fingers. His hair was still abundant, just with a few gray hairs at his temples and he only had a few wrinkles. He always looked young ... younger than he actually was anyway.

He smiled. "You're perfect!"

He chose to ignore the bit of extra fat.

He used Carla's bar of soap and a washcloth and soon, sand, dust, and dirt was scrubbed off and into the water swirling around the plug hole.

Head thrown back and eyes closed, both arms staying limp at his sides, Artemus stood under the hot water until his fingers started to prune and the steam had filled the entire bathroom.

Feeling human again and relaxed, he turned the water off and stepped out of the small shower stall onto the bathmat.

He grabbed one of the large fluffy towels off the rack and began to dry himself and his hair.

He wrapped it around his waist after that and stood in front of the mirror hanging over the sink. It was steamed over, so he reached out and wiped it clean with his palm – and glanced at his reflection.

He touched the salt and pepper stubble on his cheeks and chin and said, "You need a good shave now, to look a bit more presentable."

He opened the drawer of the dresser and pulled out what was necessary: a shaving soap providing protection and lubrication for the razor, a shaving brush to whip the soap into a lather, a shaving mug, a bottle of oil in order to lubricate and moisturize the skin to prevent a painful razor burn – and an open razor.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Jim's worried voice said, "You okay Artie? You didn't drown in the shower; did you?"

Opening the door, Artemus responded, "No, I'm still here." He sniffed a delicious _mélange_ of smells: toasts, mushroom and onion omelet and apple pie. "Did you prepare dinner?" then he heard his stomach growl it needed to be filled.

He was hungry. Shaving would have to wait.

Smiling proudly, Jim nodded. "Yes, I did. It smells good, right? Don't you remember that Juanita taught me how to cook? But don't get used to it, Artie. You're the Chef here, not me. There's your name on the door of the galley. I just cook when you're not in shape to do it. I don't like to cook."

Grabbing his fluffy bathrobe hanging on a hook fixed behind the door, Artie asked, "I know. How are Juanita and the children?"

Leaning against the doorjamb, Jim said, "She's okay and Jesus and Rufina are alright too, but they miss me a lot and I miss them a lot. I'd like to go back more often to Tecate to be with them, but I'm always busy with assignments. I hope we'll have leave soon."

Nodding, Artie removed the damp towel from his waist. "Yes, I hope that too." He threw it onto the sink before closing his bathrobe and added, "You have a lovely family, Jim, and I hope you'll see them soon."

He followed his partner into the narrow walkway and closed the door behind him. "Give me five minutes to dress and I will prepare some coffee."

Pressing Artie's shoulder with affection, Jim said, "It's good to have you back Artie." He hugged the other man and parting, added, "I'm going to set the table for dinner."

WWW

 _Much later_

His expression nonplussed, Jim scratched his head as he observed the statuette of Otepek he had just taken out of its box and placed on the dining table. "Mmm… and that statuette actually _spoke_ to you Artie?"

Glaring at his partner, his hands balling into fists at his sides, Artemus said, "Statues don't talk, Jim. They are inanimate objects."

Smiling, Jim nodded. "I know that."

Catching Jim's smirk, he wrinkled his brow, let out a sigh and said, "I'm not senile if it is what you're thinking," he said in an affronted voice.

Closing his fingers around his mug Jim smiled soothingly. "I never thought that." He chuckled and added, "Be careful, Artemus, you're starting to sound like a grumpy old man." He ignored the other man's scowl and took a sip of coffee. "Is he here?"

Placing the small gold statue back in its box, reverently, Artie said, "No, he's gone. Otepek only 'inhabits' his statue when someone needs to travel backward in time to speak to his or her ancestors, to say yes or no. He's probably back where he 'lives' with the other gods. And I don't 'talk' to him, at least with my mouth, I use thoughts only." Seeing that his partner was looking at him skeptically, he added, "I know, the whole story sounds bizarre, really weird, not real, invented, coming out of a dream, a hallucination, but it's the truth I swear, Jim. I told you the exact story. Everything is absolutely, hundred percent true."

Placing a hand on Artie's arm and patting it, Jim said, "I believe you Artie, always have, always will, but you have to admit that the whole thing is pretty hard to believe. Do you want some friendly advice, buddy? Don't ever tell a word about the whole thing to anyone, ever! Or you're going to end up in a mental asylum, faster than it takes to say, ending up wearing a straightjacket."

Pouring himself a mug of hot fresh coffee Artie hummed in agreement. "You're right. I won't tell anyone, it's better that way." He glanced at the wooden box containing Otepek's small statue and then added, "The statuette is going to be safely placed in the reserve of the Archeological Museum. Then, in September it will be shown during the exhibition about Ancient lost civilizations. The President asked me to personally hand it to the Director after our return to Washington. In the meantime, I'll keep it in my lab."

Taking another sip of coffee, Jim nodded. "What about Hawkins?" He asked.

Frowning in displeasure, Artemus replied, "Hawkins? Pfff! His father is a very influential man, Jim, a friend of the President. He's probably already out of jail, without charge and he's probably heading home as we speak." He waved his hand. "Good riddance!"

Smiling, Jim patted Artie's knee soothingly. "Relax Artie, it's over." He snapped his fingers then pulled a letter from the right pocket of his old beloved emerald green velvet smoking jacket - a little bit narrow for him now that he had gained a bit of weight. "I almost forgot! You got mail in your absence. There's nothing written on the envelope except, 'To Artemus Gordon, the Wanderer, from Lupita'." He smiled teasingly. "Lupita… Lupita… The only Lupita I know is Colonel Lupita Quesada of the Guarde Federal of the Mexican Secret Service. Well, well, well… Artemus, I didn't know that the lovely Mexican Colonel and you had reconnected. She loved you a lot, if I remember correctly."

Blushing bright red up to his ears Artemus grabbed the letter possessively and slid it into the pocket of his new dark emerald robe. "I met her last month at a reception, at the Mexican embassy in Washington. She's now a General and head of the Mexican Secret Service, you know? Those Mexicans are really progressive people, I admire that. A woman general! It would never happen here. We have planned to see each other again soon." He smiled broadly and added, "Lupita is a beautiful woman, and she's very intelligent, witty, and dangerous… she's perfect for me."

Jim chuckled. "Well, Artemus, it would seem that you and I are both attracted by lovely – much younger than us – Mexican women. Be careful Artie, you could end up married and having children, like me – and grandchildren later. You know, I can picture her, at your side at a reception… with a gun hidden in her dress and a knife in her boot. She's a perfect match for you."

Artie grinned.

WWW

 _On board the Fortuna II (a luxury yacht), August 12, 1960_

Dressed in a white smoking jacket, Lucky found Andamo sprawled on one of the large couches in the fantail, smoking his nth cigarette. "There you are _compadre_. You chose a nice comfy place to hide – in plain sight." Then he smiled.

The dark-haired Latino inhaled a long drag from his cigarette and blew it toward the side. "I'm not a child anymore, Lucky, and I'm not hiding. And I'm _not_ going to that archeological exposition at the Museum." He shook a finger. "That's a no. Don't waste your time trying to convince me, Lucky. Old things are boring, that's why I never go in a Museum. I'm going to stay here and enjoy a cigarette or two. And as we have a floating restaurant, and much to do, then I will check the receipts from yesterday night, count the cash and checks, check orders for the restaurant, fill the account books for this month, see if we have enough Champagne and caviar, etc. I'll be very busy." He tapped at his cigarette above the ashtray to get the burned up parts off.

Lucky sat beside his best friend on a comfortable cushion. "You could be surprised Andamo. Amongst those old boring things there's a unique piece. A statuette of an ancient god called Otepek. The god of Family and Ancestors for the Kep'laas tribe who lived in the Painted Desert, in Arizona more than 2000 years ago. The legend tells that that small statue can allow a man to travel back in time, so he can meet his ancestors. Then afterward he returns the traveler back to his time. That's worth a look!"

Cigarette between his fingers, Andamo chuckled. "Time traveling? That's impossible. Ah! No. That's possible in movies – but only in movies. Anything is possible in movies, like travel to Mars in a spaceship, for example." he grinned. "Can you imagine that? Going to Mars in a spaceship?"

Lucky smiled. "One day, perhaps. But I think we'll start by going to the moon, Andamo, it's closer." He patted his best friend and partner's leg. "We've been invited by the Mayor, _compadre_ , you and I and we're a team. Wherever I go, you go. Now get up." He stood, took out his pocket watch and opened it. The chime let out a series of five notes. "11:10. the next launch leaves the yacht for the shore in 10 minutes. You have just enough time to put your nicest suit on, Andamo. Come on!" he grabbed the younger man's arm and pulled him up onto his legs. "Maybe you'll meet a lovely lady there."

Finishing his cigarette Andamo sighed. "There? That's impossible! Only intellectual women attend that kind of exposition. They're rigid and uptight and boring – one word: uninteresting." He heaved a long sigh. "That's too bad, a perfectly good day wasted." He put his cigarette out on the ashtray.

Lucky smiled and placed his hand on Andamo's shoulder. "Perhaps not. Who knows _compadre_? Something unexpected could happen."

WWW

 _Later on the city's museum,_

 _Reception Hall_

Lucky was shaking the Mayor's hand, when Andamo stopped in front of the statuette of Otepek a glass of Champagne in one hand, a cigarette in the other. An armed guard was standing next to the pedestal – the object being in solid gold - and therefore worth a small fortune, he mused. "That's the famous statuette? It's ugly," he said to the other man. "I like gold but gold bars, not statuettes… but I prefer bank notes, cash."

He fished his cigarette case from his bolero jacket and pulled out a cigarette. Using his lighter he lit it, taking a long drag.

He turned around, taking an ashtray on a table in the middle of glasses of Champagne and spotted his best friend now chatting with a group of old rich ladies and recognized two of them, Mrs. Hedgemore and Mrs. Ferguson, two of the most influential women in the city – and regular guests of the Fortuna II.

He smiled and exhaled the cigarette smoke out slowly and then flicked the ashes into the crystal ashtray he was holding in his right hand.

The suave Lucky could do anything with his irresistible charm – and was probably convincing, with little effort and with a large seductive smile, the other women of the group, to come on board the luxury yacht, to enjoy an expensive menu, he mused.

He took another drag off the cigarette and looked again at the statuette of the ancient god, half-human, half-bird of prey and blew the smoke toward Otepek.

He grimaced and said, "Otepek, Otepek, what an awful name! You're just as ugly as your name, Ote-pek, god of…" Words suddenly died in his throat as a sudden bright and paralyzing light coming out from nowhere enveloped him.

He felt himself grow cold. The hair on his neck stood on end.

He couldn't explain it but he was feeling a 'presence' in his head, invading his mind, starting probing it. As he couldn't speak – panic overwhelming him - he thought 'Who are you? What do you want? Let me alone! Let me alone!'

[My name is Otepek, I am the god of Family and Ancestors and I want to know you thoroughly, to see if your soul is pure,] he heard in his head. The voice was deep, vibrant, masculine, commanding, he noticed. He felt Otepek moving throughout his memories, and then exploring his knowledge and experience. After that and he didn't know how, the god read his soul. He tried to repel it, in vain. He felt naked, exposed. Otepek knew everything about him now.

He breathed, "Please let me go. I'm sorry if I said that your statue was ugly… Please, I don't want to die. Don't kill me!"

[Use thoughts to communicate with me], Otepek 'said'. Then he added in the mortal's mind, [You are a good man, Andamo. You are worthy to travel backward in time to meet one of your ancestors. You have to choose, Andamo. I met one of your ancestors once. I met Artemus Gordon, your grand-father. He was a noble man. I know that you had always wanted to know him – I offer you the possibility to do so. Do not worry; I will bring you back to your time when I judge it necessary to. Do it Andamo. You will not be disappointed. Just tell me if you want to meet him.]

Smiling, Andamo didn't hesitate long. 'I want to meet Artemus Gordon.' He thought.

The bright light paralyzing Andamo increased in intensity and he closed his eyes against the now blinding brightness.

He moaned as a sudden wave of dizziness submerged him and blackness enveloped him.

He vanished.

Tbc


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _Desert Springs, November 10, 1890_

Letting out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, Andamo looked around him in awe with his eyes wide open. "Whoa!" He let out. He was so astonished that he dropped both his cigarette and the ashtray at his feet, instantly forgetting them. "Oh my!"

He wasn't in the Reception Hall of the Museum anymore but standing right in the middle of a western movies-like street with cowboys riding horses, others were sat in buckboards, in wagons, and there were saloons, taverns, gambling houses, brothels, a sheriff's office, a mercantile shop, a general store, a livery stable, etc. "It worked! It actually worked! Otepek sent me backward in time! I'm in the past, living a real western…that's so great!" he added, with a large smile spreading across his face. "This is awesome!'

The Latino headed toward the sidewalk made of planks and spotted his reflection in the tall mirror of the barber shop, placed next to the door.

He looked at himself. He was wearing his favorite black suit with a bolero jacket (he straightened it, erasing a crease on the left sleeve) a white 'Spanish' shirt and black, tight pants. "I think I will need new clothes to blend in here with the locals…and a gun too," he said. He searched his inside pockets; found his cigarette case, his lighter, a pen, but no money. "Anyway 20th century bank notes certainly won't be accepted here." He snapped his fingers twice. "I have to find Artemus Gordon, if Otepek sent me here, my grand-father has to be here too, somewhere in town. Let's start with the sheriff. Perhaps he knows where he is. Sheriffs usually know everything, at least in western movies…"

Andamo entered the sheriff's office a few minutes later. A white-haired man was sitting behind a writing table, holding a mug of coffee, a newspaper open in front of him.

The old lawman looked up and down at the man who had entered his office and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you my boy?"

The Latino nodded. "Hello sheriff. My name is Andamo. I need your help. I'm looking for a man called Artemus Gordon…" He said.

The sheriff smiled broadly and let out, "Of course you are." He chuckled seeing that the younger man was surprised.

Frowning, puzzled, Andamo asked, "How did you know that?"

The man with the silver star chuckled again. "How? Good Lord! You're the spitting image of your father. You look exactly like him when he was your age, it's truly incredible! You're like his double. You lost your dad son? He stood up and offered his hand to Andamo who shook it. "I'm Walter Finley an old friend of Artemus. Ah! Good old Artie, I know him very well, we've been friends many years, since the end of the war." He frowned a bit puzzled and added, "Well I thought I knew him well, but he didn't tell me that he had a son."

The Latino man shook his head. "I'm not his… " He abruptly stopped. 'Shut up Andamo! He thought. This man is going to lead you to Artemus,' he thought. "Er… yes. He usually doesn't tell anyone. He's afraid that his enemies could find that he has a son and that they could kill me as revenge… and… and I usually stay in Mexico with my mother. I don't come to the United States very often."

Finley smiled. "Well, that does explain your Mexican accent and your Mexican clothes too, son. So you lost good ol' Artemus? What happened?"

Raising his hand, Andamo waved it then. "It's silly, but I got lost… it's the first time I've come here. Perhaps you could tell me where he is, sheriff, please?"

The sheriff patted the younger man's shoulder with affection. "Follow me. He's not far. The railway station is located behind the church."

Utterly excited Andamo beamed. 'The Wanderer!... I'm going to see the famous Wanderer! I was playing with a wooden toy-replica of the Wanderer, when I was little that my father had carved for me… I'm going to see the real one!' he thought.

WWW

 _Later, on the Wanderer_

 _Midday_

Sitting on the couch, James West opened the local newspaper and called, "Artemus?" He started reading the headlines and said aloud, "Your coffee is getting cold!"

Entering the parlor car, Artemus Gordon said, "I'm not deaf, you know. I was busy feeding the horses." And he started re-buttoning his brown and gold waistcoat. He lowered his hand to the coffee table and took the steaming mug sitting on it. "Thanks! Mmm… it smells good. You're finally capable of making good coffee – better later than never." Then he took a sip.

Smiling, Jim looked up. "Thanks Artie, but I'm still unable to prepare any food, not even the basics, like fried eggs and omelets. By the way, I'm beginning to get hungry. What's on the menu?"

Frowning, a bit irritated, Artie said, "I'm not your personal Chef, _James West,_ and the Wanderer is not a restaurant on wheels."

Looking falsely surprised Jim said, "Since when?" Then he chuckled softly. "Ah! Come on! You love being in the galley, cooking, as much as being in your lab."

Suddenly a knock at the door surprised them both.

Immediately Jim's eyebrows drew together in concern. He asked, "Are you expecting someone Artie? Because I'm not." And he watched Artemus grab the gun hidden in the secret compartment of the faux fireplace and cock the hammer. "The answer is no."

Holding his revolver Artemus opened the door with caution and cocked the hammer… and felt himself freeze, his breath caught in his throat, staring agape and wide-eyed, in total and complete astonishment, at the image of the man he had been many years ago, in the shape of a younger man who was standing on the rear platform of the Wanderer.

Bewildered, he took a step backward, jaw hanging open, forgetting to breathe and his legs wobbling. "This-is-not-possible," he finally croaked after a long silence.

Taking a step forward Andamo couldn't help but stare at the older man as he felt tears roll onto his cheeks. His grandfather was here, at arm's reach. A man he had never known but had always dreamed of knowing, a man that his father and he admired, almost revered, he mused. "Hi, my name is Andamo", he said. He pointed at the gun Artie was holding with a trembling hand. "Could you lower that big gun please?"

Curious to see who was there – Artie's large frame hiding the man or was it a woman? - Jim took three long strides across the room and joined his best friend.

Blinking, he too stared at Andamo, eyes wide opened and his mouth dropped open a bit. After thirty seconds he finally said, "I didn't know that you had a son, Artie... oh my! He looks exactly like you when we started working together. That's incredible!"

Feeling embarrassed Artie abruptly sobered up. "I didn't know that either. I had intimate relationships with a few women in the past when I was young… So it's possible…"

Still amazed, looking at Andamo from head to toe, Jim replied, "I think it happened, buddy."

Smiling Andamo shook his head. "No, I'm not your son, Sir," he said to Artemus. "I'm your _grandson_ and my name is Andamo. I traveled in time, to the past to meet you, to get to know you."

Speechless Artemus Gordon lowered his gun, a turmoil of emotions overwhelming him, first it was intense shock – 'He's what? My grandson?' - then it was a profound joy – 'I'm going to have a son! Then a grandson, but first, I'm going to get married and have a wife!' – and finally he felt an immense relief. 'Oh dear god! I'm not going to die alone, I mean without a family, that was my greatest fear,' he thought. Beaming he placed his free hand on the younger man's shoulder and said, "I just can't believe it! Oh boy! That's wonderful!" Then he pulled Andamo into a tight warm hug, "And truly incredible!" He parted from the other man and added. "Welcome on board the Wanderer, Andamo, and of course, welcome to the 19th century… because, if you are my grandson, you come from the future, and from…?"

Still staring at the famous Artemus Gordon, the Civil War super spy, the Secret Service most famous agent, hero of his youth, still amazed to have him in the flesh before him, Andamo stammered, "1960, Sir…"

Blinking in awe Artie breathed, "What? 1960! It's extraordinary! 1960!" He pointed at Jim. "Oh, let me present you my best friend and partner, James West."

The two men shook hands warmly. "It's a pleasure sir," Andamo said, beaming. "I heard lots of stories about you and my grandfather's adventures when I was a boy."

Smiling, Jim said, "Call me Jim. Really? Your father told you them?"

Andamo nodded. "Yes, Sir, I mean yes, Jim. He had heard them from his own father and mother." He entered the parlor car and looked around him, amazed. The place was luxurious, richly decorated and comfortable: "It's nice, exactly like my father described it to me. I often dreamed of being here, in the parlor car, but I had no idea that I'd actually be here someday…" He beamed with glee. "This is so great!"

Smiling, Artie placed his gun on the coffee table and said, "I'm sure. Have a seat, Andamo. You have a lot to tell us."

The Latino took his place on the golden silk brocade couch, touching the fabric to be sure it was real. "Thank you, Sir," he said.

He glanced at the Colt with the letters AG being engraved in the handle and recognized it. His father had placed it on a wooden plate hanging on a wall in his study. It was a precious relic that no one was allowed to touch, except him.

His smile broadening, Artemus let out, "Don't call me that, please. The last time someone called me that, I was still a Major in the Cavalry… a long time ago. Call me Artemus, or Artie," and he sat beside Andamo as Jim sat on a comfortable chair opposite.

Looking alternately at Jim and Artie, Andamo said, "I don't know where to start… and it's quite an extraordinary story to tell."

His eyes narrowing in suspicion, Jim crossed his arms on his chest and asked, "Okay, I need to hear the truth. Are you really Artie's grandson or a younger duplicate of Artemus Gordon sent by one of our arch enemies to kill Artie and me?"

Dumbfounded the Latino blinked twice. "What? A duplicate? You mean that I wouldn't be the real Andamo? No! I'm not a duplicate, I'm me, Andamo."

His brow furrowing a bit more, now intrigued, Jim asked, "Just Andamo. No last name? Why?"

Staring at his best friend, Artemus was appalled. "Jim! How can you think that? Of course he's my grandson –look at his eyes! This is not the look of a liar. He's sincere."

Not convinced Jim said, "You had doubles before Artie, remember? Michelito Loveless is still at large and I'm sure that he inherited his father's ability to create duplicates, without mentioning other very dangerous people too who can do that kind of trick."

The younger man cringed. "In answer to your question, I usually go by Andamo, just Andamo, no last name. It's a habit I took on because of where I come from. Because on Cholobolo, El Presidente didn't like foreigners, and Gordon is a foreign name there. My parents had problems with the police controlled by El Presidente because of that. For example the policemen vandalized our car, put graffiti on the walls of our home, of my school like 'Go back to the States!' or 'Go home Americanos!' and they were even insulted by them when they returned home after shopping, etc. They were constantly harassed by the police, and me too… Lucky was tolerated on the island because he was running a Casino and gave a lot of money to El Presidente to be allowed to stay there… To put an end to this, my parents chose to officially take my mother's name, Cárdenas instead of my father's, because it sounded Spanish and the troubles stopped, overnight. They didn't change it to Gordon after they left Cholobolo after that El Presidente was murdered."… 'Quite in a hurry because I helped a beautiful assassin to get into position to kill that pig! Good riddance! I hope he's burning in hell!' he thought. He finally added, "They now live in Mexico. And, so as not to have any problem with the Mexican authorities they even took Mexican nationality as my grandmother was Mexican, and a famous one. It speeded things up. But after I came to the US, I obtained permanent residency. I'm authorized to live and work in the United States of America permanently, but I can't vote."

Still gazing at Andamo with intense scrutiny, to make him feel uncomfortable, to make him speak, to make him tell the truth, Jim asked, "How did you manage to travel backward into the past?"

Feeling nervous to be questioned by Jim as if he was a liar, Andamo pulled his cigarette case out of his inside pocket along with his lighter. "I can tell you that Colonel Vautrain and Michelito Loveless are not involved in this," he said.

Pointing at Jim Artemus said, "See? He knows that Vautrain and Loveless sent us back in time, no one else know that except us and Colonel Richmond and President Grant. Our reports were confidential." Then he glanced at the younger man and asked, "Did you father tell you about what happened with Vautrain and Loveless? That's the only logical way you can know that."

Lighting up a cigarette, Andamo replied, "Yes and all of your other adventures." He held the lighter out to Artemus as he noticed that the older man was intrigued by it and said, 'It's a lighter, something very common when I come from. It's a portable device used to generate a flame. It's very handy to light cigarettes, cigars, well to light anything actually."

Completely fascinated Artemus examined the object then looking up at Andamo asked, "So, you're from an island called Cholobolo?"

Looking at his grandfather, right in the eyes, the Latino took the first drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke and said, "Yes, Cholobolo is a small island in the Caribbean. The national language there is Spanish. I was born there on March 22, 1920. I'm an only child. My mom, Elmira Cárdenas was born there too. My father, your son, is Feliz Gordon, he was born in Washington D.C. and he's an American citizen. Well, he was, because he had to renounce it, and you know why now. Your wife Lupita Quesada, my grandmother, was Mexican. My parents are still alive and, as you know now, live in Mexico."

Grinning Jim patted his best friend's knee. "Lupita Quesada?... Well, I guess your rendez-vous will go very well, and will be followed by many others… and followed by an engagement, a wedding and a baby. I knew there was something between Lupita and you, Artie. I realized that when you kissed her before she slapped you and after that, at the restaurant, you couldn't help but look at each other, holding hands… Then you spent that whole 'romantic' week together before she returned to Mexico. You were in love with her and she with you."

Smiling, Artie nodded, and placed the lighter on the coffee table, remembering everything. They had spent their time discussing what they liked and did not like, had dined at the best restaurants, went to balls, attended shows in cabarets and saloons, went to the theater, the opera, had wandered on horseback, in a carriage and had made love – a lot. "Life separated us… to bring us together again many years later. Isn't it wonderful? Lupita and me together again…" he said, with a grin.

Jim nodded. "And a couple – well, you will be a couple, future tense. You can start dating her the next time you see her. She won't say no, and she'll succumb to your charm – no doubt."

Artie's very big smile vanished as his face grew somber. He took a deep breath clenching his jaw, bracing himself and asked, "How did I die? And when?"

Shaking his head Andamo hesitated. "No, no, no, it's a bad idea… I'm not going to tell you anything. Neither you nor Jim."

But the older man insisted, "I insist. It's my life… or rather, it's my death. So I want to know everything. Tell me, please, Andamo. Tell me."

Shaking his head, the Latino said, "I can't. No."

It was Jim who intervened, "Artemus is the most stubborn man I know, and it's not gotten any better with age… (he ignored Artie's glare)… When he wants something, he always ends up getting it, even if he has to spend hours, days, weeks, and so on, on it. And if you don't want to hear him say 'tell me' several hundred times, and he will do it, believe me, I advise you to tell him everything."

Defeated Andamo nodded. "Like father, like son… my father is like as well, and I too. Okay. You win." Ill-at-ease Andamo sighed and said, "You died in your sleep, on July 3, 1910. Dr. Baker told my dad it was probably following a massive heart attack as you had minor heart attacks a few weeks before. Dr. Baker, had prescribed sleeping pills to treat your sleeplessness, so you felt nothing. You just stopped breathing, while sleeping soundly. I'm sorry."

Relief showing on his face Artemus heaved a sigh and nodded. "Don't be. Well, it's a good way to die. With my kind of profession, I always thought I would go out with a violent death, with a bullet to the chest, a knife to my heart, and relatively young… I'm glad it happened that way."

Repressing a smirk, Jim said, "Emphasis on _relatively_." Then, suddenly serious, he asked, "What about me?" How do I die? And when?"

Looking at Jim, still feeling uncomfortable, Andamo revealed, "You died on December 27, 1932, of old age. It was the end of the afternoon and you were surrounded by your family, me included."

Jim and Artie looked at each other at the same time, thinking the same thing. They weren't afraid to die, dying was part of life – everyone dies at one time or another – and death was part of their job. They could die anytime while on a mission. They had accepted it a long time ago when President Grant had asked them to join the Secret Service and it hadn't changed after they re-enlisted to serve President Harrison. They didn't fear death. But there was something – only one thing that terrified them when they worked side by side: that one of them might die first and that the other one was left alone, heartbroken with a terrible void at his side. They hoped to pass away together…

But sadly it wouldn't happen that way.

Jim's face crumpled at the same time his heart sank. He was feeling sick, nauseated at the idea of a dead Artemus lying in his bed; at the idea of living twenty-two years without the other man. "What am I going to do without you Artie?" he asked, his throat tightened by raw emotion. "Twenty-two years is an eternity!"

Eyes wet and stinging, Artemus attempted a smile but failed miserably, a lump stuck in his throat. "You'll find out, Jim. I'm not worried about that. In 22 years, you can do so many things… As for myself, well, I have 20 years left… and it's a long time. And I intend to enjoy every minute of it from now on."

To finish the heartbreaking subject, Andamo said, "As for grandma Lupita, she died on June 22, 1917, in her sleep too, peacefully." Then he decided to change the topic of conversation, and looking at Jim he said, "You were there when I was born sir, I mean Jim, and my grandmother Lupita chose you to be my godfather and my middle name is James."

Jim was very surprised, then he was very pleased and deeply honored. He bowed his head and said, "I hope I was a good godfather."

Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, Andamo nodded. "The best! When my grandfather died… you were there for my grandmother and my father to help them to overcome their grief. It was a very difficult time for everyone… And you were like a second grandfather to me."

Pause. The three men wiped their tears with their hands.

Standing, Jim moved toward the table and taking the pot of fresh coffee poured the dark, steaming liquid into a mug. "Do you want a cup of coffee, Andamo?"

The Latino shook his head, "No thank you," and watched Jim come back, holding his mug and an ashtray he had taken from the sideboard.

Once the ashtray was set down on the coffee table, Andamo flicked the ashes from his cigarette into it. "Thanks," he said.

Placing his mug onto his lap, Jim said, "Okay, let's go back on topic. How did you manage to get here? I mean travel in time?"

The Latino smiled, delighted to change the subject under discussion. "Ah! It's an incredible story – You're not going to believe me. I was at that reception at the Archeological Museum on the Oceanside when a statuette of an ancient god named Otepek…"

Both Jim and Artemus exchanged a surprised look.

Lifting his hand, Artie said, "Stop! I know what happened. You said the name 'Otepek' three times and then you were paralyzed by a blinding white light. And the god probed your mind, said that you were a good man and granted you the possibility to travel back in time to meet your ancestors. And you chose to meet me… and he sent you here, now."

Opening his chocolate eyes wide in astonishment, Andamo said, "Yes… except it's Otepek who told me about you, he told me he had met you in the past… and, as I always dreamed of meeting you, I accepted the chance to come here. " He frowned. "My father never told me about that story with Otepek and I wonder why…" He furrowed his brow a little more. "How do you know that?"

Pointing at the door leading to the narrow walkway leading to the other rooms and cars, Artie said, "Something similar happened to me a few days ago – except that I didn't travel in time to meet one of my ancestors… I said no. I had a mission to fulfill. By the way, that statuette is here, in my lab." He glanced at Jim and added, "Are you satisfied Jim? He's really my grandson and the whole story I told you really happened – because Andamo is here to prove it."

Relaxing in the armchair, Jim took a sip of coffee and replied, "Yes, I am. I want you to forgive me both for being suspicious, but we've met doppelgangers before. You remember the other Jim West that Dr. Loveless created? When Janus, my double and I were fighting, you were unable to keep straight which one was which and at the end, after I finally defeated Janus, you were still unsure that I was the true Jim, but you were after I kissed Marie." Then he smiled.

Rolling his eyes, Artie said, "You always ended up kissing the girl…" and caught Andamo chuckling softly around his cigarette. He frowned, a bit hurt. "You know that too…"

Placing his half-empty mug on the coffee table, Jim smiled and said, "Not always, and, if I recall correctly, many lovely women ended up in your arms, and then in your bed. I would say, 'very often'. But what's important is, that, in the end, you found _the one_ for you, el General Lupita Quesada – I mean you will find the one for you, as it hasn't happened yet."

Smiling Artie patted the younger man's shoulder. "Andamo my boy, you're going to stay here during your visit, with Jim and I. You will sleep in the stateroom. President Cleveland was the last President to sleep in that bed. It was after we defeated Michelito Loveless." He looked up and down at Andamo and added, "You need new clothes, more like 19th century clothes."

Dropping the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray, Andamo said, "Great!" He was excited, eyes sparkling. "And I need a hat, a gun belt and a revolver too."

Frowning, Jim said, "No revolver for you. Carrying a gun can be dangerous. Someone could challenge you to duel for a trifle, it happens very often."

The younger man frowned, a pout to his lips, very disappointed. "Why? I use a gun rather often you know. I don't hesitate to shoot bad guys when necessary. Lucky and I we're in a business that brings us into contact with mobsters, gangsters, smugglers, hit men and counterfeiters too." He suddenly realized that his best friend and partner was probably searching for him – and wouldn't able to find him. Anywhere. "Oh, Lucky, he's going to be dead worried. He'll probably search everywhere with Rovacs and the police on his tail helping him…" He opened his cigarette case again and pulled one out.

Curious, Jim asked, "Who's this Lucky and who's Rovacs?"

Using the lighter to light his cigarette, Andamo responded, "Lucky is my best friend and partner." He took a first puff and added, "We have a yacht, called the _Fortuna II_. First it was a gambling casino, but it's a floating restaurant now. We run the business together. Rovacs is a Lieutenant of police. He's not a friend, but he helps us sometimes. He's not too bad for a cop, a police officer."

Artemus nodded. "Alright, then you're going to have new clothes, a hat, a gun belt _and a gun_. We'll make a 19th century man of you my boy. Do you ride horses, Andamo?"

The younger man smiled. "Yes, I had a horse when I was a boy, a gray mare called 'Carlita'." His stomach suddenly rumbled in hunger. "I'm sorry. I'm very hungry. I had an early breakfast this morning… by the way, what's the date?"

Standing, Jim said, "July 7, 1890." Then he took the mug and moved toward the table where he placed it beside the pot of coffee.

Blinking in surprise, Andamo let out, "1890! Woah! Then I had my breakfast seventy years ago. I am not surprised at being very hungry." He chuckled.

Jim pointed at Artie with a mischievous smile, "I fortunately have a _Chef_ here, namely Artemus Gordon. He's going to prepare us something copious and delicious in the galley in no time. He's so good that we could turn the train into a restaurant – on wheels." Seeing that Artie was giving him a black look he said. "He loves cooking."

Nodding, Andamo rapidly glanced around him and looking at Jim he said, "The idea of a 'rolling restaurant' is very good, you know. Did you ever hear about the Orient Express?"

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Andamo spent the next hour wolfing down everything Artemus placed in front of him on the table – and between the dishes, he told the two very very curious other men what had happened between the end of the 19th century and the middle of the 20th century – wars (essentially the two world wars), the development of transportation (cars, planes, cruise ships) and technological inventions (washing machines, refrigerators, electric stoves, vacuum cleaners and the television) and the culture and entertainment (jazz music, rock and roll & cinema), and he finished his panorama of the 20th century with – according to him - the top inventions, the mini skirt and the bikini.

Of course Jim particularly loved them. Artemus rolled his eyes.

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 _Later in the Silver Star saloon_

Grinning like a kid in a toy store Andamo had three curvaceous saloon girls dressed in low-cut, feathered and corseted colorful dresses, slightly showing of their generous breasts, wrapped around him, purring like big cats. One blonde, one brunette and one red-head. They had creamy white skin, full red-painted lips and lots of faux jewelry.

There was a foam covered glass sitting on the table before him – untouched. The Latino was too busy enjoying the kisses and the caresses of the lovely young women, their arms curled around him to think about drinking his cheap and probably bad beer.

Sitting in a corner, at another table, three tables away, Artemus took a sip of root beer and turned toward his partner sitting beside him, who had a glass of whiskey in his hand. "Look at him Jim. That boy is a charmer. He's exactly like me at his age. He probably has a girl in his arms and then in his bed every night, especially with his kind of work. He meets a lot of women."

Glancing at Artie, his eyes twinkling with playfulness, Jim chuckled, "If I remember correctly, when you were his age, I had all the girls, in my arms and in my bed, not you."

Furrowing his brow, upset, Artemus gave his best friend a dry look and seeing him dressed in allover blue clothes, bolero jacket, shirt, waistcoat and pants – with a black tie, he suddenly missed his much loved blue tailcoat suit which was still in the laundry room, in the laundry basket. So he had chosen a burgundy suit with a black waistcoat and tie.

His frowned deepened and he replied, "That was because they were more attracted by brawn than brain… but I didn't care. I wasn't jealous. I don't know what jealousy is." Jim had always been a ladies' man, flirting with pretty much anyone… until he met his wife, Juanita. As for him, Jim exaggerated, he had had a few women in his life, like Cassandra Peterson, the opera singer, like Lily Fortune the actress and Lupita Quesada, the colonel of the Mexican Secret Service, briefly… but it would change, he thought.

He would marry her and have a child, a boy, Feliz, he added in his mind as he took a gulp of cold Sarsaparilla smiling around the rim of his glass.

Furrowing his brow, a bit upset too, Jim paused rolling the glass between his hand and said, "Are you saying that I'm not intelligent?" I'm a highly educated man. Sure I'm not a walking encyclopedia like you, but I'm very intelligent."

Looking again at Andamo who was kissing the brunette girl while she slowly worked her hand up his thigh, Artemus raised his glass for another swig of fizzing liquid. "I had muscles…"

Jim smirked. "Had, yes."

Glaring at his companion, Artie asked, "Are you insinuating that I'm flabby? Overweight?"

A twinkle in his eye, Jim asked, "Are you feeling targeted, Artie?"

Raising his chin, Artie huffed in annoyance and explained, "I'm 60, remember? Body changes with age. You changed too – and the moustache makes you look old, by the way."

Placing his free hand on his stomach, Jim said, "I love my moustache, and Juanita too. And you're right, the body changes with age, but the muscles in my stomach are still pretty damn ripped… and those in my arms are solid, strong. Same things for my legs. You shouldn't have stopped following my morning exercise routine, Artie. You had lost weight and gained muscles."

Looking back at Andamo now kissing the blond-haired saloon girl's cleavage, Artie replied, "I can't build things to save our two asses and do exercise at the same time. I had to choose. Besides, Lupita doesn't love me because I'm built like a statue of a Greek God, but…"

Pleased to hear that, Jim interrupted his best friend, "I'm built like a statue of a Greek God?" Then he smiled proudly. "Thanks."

Suddenly two burly men, visibly irritated and inebriated, stood, sending their chairs crashing backwards as they stood up making them topple over with a thud, and they headed toward Andamo with the saloon girls seated around him.

Seeing that, Jim's shoulders tensed and he said, "Uh! Oh! Trouble ahead Artemus. Let's help Andamo. I think he's going to need it." He finished the drink he held in his hand and stood, his fingers near his Colt, quickly followed by his best friend, his hand settled on the handle of the gun at his right hip.

One of the men – the taller and broader one – pointed his gun at Andamo. "Move away girls. I need to speak to this little man here. He has no right touching you!"

Immediately the table patrons and bar patrons chatter stopped. The clinking of glasses stopped. In a matter of seconds, they dropped their cards on their poker tables, abandoned their whiskey-filled glasses and left the saloon in a hurry in order to avoid stray bullets. The pot-bellied bartender discreetly left, using the back door, for the same reason.

The other thug suddenly pivoted and pointed his gun at Jim and Artie, menacingly. The two agents stopped dead in their tracks. "Drop your guns to the ground and sit down grandpas or you're both dead." Then he cocked the hammer of his Colt.

Grandpas?

Jim and Artie looked at each other, both outraged. Then they dropped their guns to the floor before sitting back at their table obediently.

The saloon girls complied reluctantly.

But a few seconds later the red-haired woman moved toward the man built like a mountain and, repeatedly poking his large chest with her forefinger, with an annoyed look on her face, she said, "Yes he has! We're paid to

entertain the all-male patronage, remember? And he's a client. And you don't own us, Sal. We can have fun with any men here and not only with you. You're just damn _jealous_."

Sal slapped the young woman's face hard, making her cry. "You and I are going to have a nice chat after I take care of the fancy-dressed boy here." He clamped a large hand down on Andamo's jacket and pulled the Latino up, roughly, his body threateningly close to Andamo's, much larger than him, both in height and bulk. "Now, let's see what we've got here…"

Immediately Andamo, shoved the man backwards, both surprise and irritation flashing up in his eyes. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Sal chuckled and glanced at his accomplice, amused. "Did you hear that Tom? My! He could bite!" He sneered. He put his gun back in his holster then his eyes narrowed dangerously. He suddenly punched Andamo's face with his iron-like fist, right on his left cheek making the other man's head spin and knocking him sideways. The Latino collapsed on the ground limply while seeing stars in front of his eyes.

Tom chuckled. "Give him a good whack Sal!"

The mountain of a man glanced back at Artemus who was fuming in his chair, gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white, and he said, "Stay where you are, old man, I wouldn't want to crush your fragile bones!" He chose to ignore the 'old man's' glare and looked down at Andamo who was pulling himself into a sitting position. "Come on, little man, show me what you've got! Make your daddy here proud of you. Fight me, come on!"

Gritting his teeth in anger Andamo pulled himself up. Then he launched himself at Sal in a low tackle and brought him to the ground. Then he hit the other man between his legs with as much force as he could muster, causing him to double over, before moving back, enjoying the giant's yelp of pain.

Furious, the big man recovered teeth bared in a snarl, nostrils flaring, "You're dead!" He growled, then he leaped toward Andamo and slammed a fist down on the Latino's face. "I hate Mexicans!" he said.

In a flash, Andamo managed to drop in time to get out of the way. "I'm Latino, not Mexican," he said and he choked out a gasp when Sal lunged at him, lifting him upright.

The thug punched Andamo in the face again and Andamo saw stars, his head reeling from the impact and he sloppily tried to get free.

His vision was starting to clear, when the brute started raining punches on the other man, pummeling his face hard again and again and trying to do as much damage as possible.

Still pointing his gun at the agents, Tom moved back slowly wanting to participate. "You always have all the fun," he said.

He slammed an elbow into Andamo's solar plexus propelling the Latino slamming into a table, sending glasses flying and crashing to the dusty floor.

Eyes closing, stars burst behind his eyelids, grimacing, Andamo let out a cry and he slumped backwards, knocked out cold, blood on his face.

His jaw tightened, Artemus gritted his teeth as his blood was boiling in his veins. Fists trembling, Jim was ready to leap like a tiger.

Red-faced, Sal seized the occasion to leap on his adversary. Pinning the Latino on the dusty floorboards with his large hand, pressing on the other man's chest and almost breaking his ribs, he began hitting Andamo's face. "My turn sassy boy!" and he growled like an angry bear, his eyes black.

Seeing red, unable to control himself anymore, Artemus rushed toward Tom. He grabbed the other man's wrist, twisting him round and snapping his arm in one movement. The thug cried out in pain and the revolver fell to the ground with a thud.

Following suit, Jim crushed his fist on Tom's nose in a sickening crunch. The man staggered back, blood pouring from his broken nose.

He knocked out Tom with a well-placed uppercut to his chin, and the man collapsed like a stone, everything going black.

Artie picked the gun up and fired at the ceiling and his baritone voice commanded, "That's enough!" He then aimed the revolver at Sal's head. "Move away from him, now. And don't try anything. I don't much like shooting people, but in your case, I'd be glad to make an exception." His voice was cold and his eyes were dark with barely repressed anger. Seeing that Sal didn't move, he added, "I'm old, I'm suffering from arthritis in my hand… thus my trigger finger is not as strong as it used to be, in the past and I tire rapidly…" He again cocked the hammer of the silver Colt he was holding, planted himself in front of the brute and pressed the mouth of his gun against Sal's throat, for extra emphasis, "Do what I said. Before I have an arthritic uncontrolled twitch in my trigger finger," he added, his voice low.

Sal hesitated. The man standing a few inches from him was old… he could easily break him in two within seconds.

As if he could read the thug's mind, Artie said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The bullet of my revolver will always be faster than your fist."

Sal did as he was told, reluctantly.

He backed away and towering above a barely conscious Andamo he smiled, looking smug. "It's just a bar brawl, I'll be out of jail tomorrow…cause my father owns the town," he drawled. He looked at Artemus with a cruel smile. "And I will crush you, old man, bone after bone until you die. Then I will take care of your son, with my knife." And he tightened his massive fist threateningly.

Placing a hand on Artie's own hand, Jim forced his partner to lower his gun, while he was aiming his at Sal. "Take it easy, Artie."

Livid, Artemus was trembling. His face was the picture of entitled rage.

Using his free hand, Jim pulled out his identification card from the inside pocket of his blue bolero jacket and showed it to Sal. "I don't think so. It happens that you threatened two federal agents with a gun and threatened to kill one. You're going to end up in a federal prison for a _long_ time."

Sheriff Finley entered the saloon followed by four deputies. Jim gestured to them. "Here, Walter! Put those two men in prison – they threatened Artie and me with a gun. "He looked down at Andamo sprawled on the ground, passed out. "And Sal here hurt Andamo."

Finley nodded and pulled his gun, holding it on the two brutes. "Sal and Tom of course! The usual town troublemakers. Why am I not surprised? He snapped his fingers and the deputies, guns in hands escorted Sal and Tom out of the saloon. "Keep an eye on them, boys," he said to them.

Glancing at Artie, Jim frowned in concern. "You have arthritis in your hand? Since when? Why didn't you tell me that before?"

Eyes twinkling, Artie winked at Jim and said, "My hand is just fine. I was bluffing and it looks like I was very convincing," His smile vanished from his lips and he added, "The day I can't hold my gun, I will retire, but not before."

Feeling better, Jim smiled. Artie used a cane (hiding a long, sharp blade) from time to time when he had an arthritis crisis, when the weather changed. But the chronic pain was there and it hurt, less, but hurt nonetheless, he thought.

His knees creaking as a response, Artie winced and knelt beside Andamo, pulling him in his arms, and holding him tightly, trying his best to categorize his grandson's injuries. He was pretty beat up but he would be okay, he noticed in relief. He slid his fingers down to the other man's jaw and he slowly, gently turned his head from side to side. "Andamo my-boy, wake up, wake up."

Feeling calloused thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, Andamo managed, "I'm fine," without opening his eyes.

Frowning in concern, Artie shook his head. "No you're not, not yet. You fought well Andamo, I'm proud of you. Now let's take you to the doctor's office."

The Latino shook his head as he slowly moved into a sitting position, legs sprawled in front of him and a hand on his face feeling a trickle of blood running from his nose and mouth.

Pulling out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, Artemus gently dabbed the blood and placed the piece of cloth in Andamo's hand.

Feeling dizzy, Andamo breathed, "Thanks. But I don't want to go to the doctor's office. Want to go back to the train."

Nodding, Artie said, "Okay, then the doctor will come to the Wanderer, " and, grabbing Andamo's arms he pulled him to his feet, holding back a moan of pain as his bad knee hurt, before wrapping the Latino's arm around his shoulder.

Sheriff Finley holstered his revolver and said, "I'm going to send Walter Perkins to the Wanderer, he'll take care of Andamo."

Following Jim, Artie slowly began to drag Andamo out of the saloon the younger man's hand clutching the bloodied handkerchief.

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 _Later in the afternoon, the Wanderer,_

Frowning in concern Artemus was standing next to the doorjamb of the Presidential sleeping compartment. "How is he Doctor?" he asked.

Dr. Perkins put his stethoscope back in the black bag and said, "He's going to be alright. Nothing's broken, but he's going to be in pain for quite some time. The swelling should disappear within two days, as for the bruises they will vanish too, but it's going to take more time." From his bag he pulled a flask filled with brown powder and a round metallic box. "The powder is a pain suppressor. If the pain is intense, mix a spoonful in a glass of water, if the pain is bearable, use half a spoonful." He opened the small box and said, "It's a mentholated ointment with camphor. It will accelerate the healing of the bruises. Gently spray a layer of it on his face, three times per day." He looked down at Andamo lying on top of the bedspread, sleeping soundly. "The sedative I gave him should wear off in a few hours."

Dr. Perkins placed the flask and the box on a table then looked down at the younger man. "Your son really is your portrait Mr. Gordon," he said. "That's incredible."

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 _Later_

Sitting on the side of the bed, Artemus gently placed the waterproof cloth (one of his inventions) filled with pieces of ice on Andamo's right cheek. The younger man was limply lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his face swollen and colored with nasty black, blue, and purple bruises. "Here, how do you feel?"

The Latino slowly opened bleary eyes. "M' fine… but m' sore as hell and 'm very tired," he responded, his mouth cotton-dry. He touched his left cheek slick with the menthol-camphor ointment, flinching slightly from the touch on sore flesh. "What's that thing on my face? That smells funny. Is it some kind of ointment?"

Artie nodded. "Yes it is. It will accelerate the healing of your bruises." He smiled proudly and ruffled his grandson's thick black hair with deep affection. "You fought well in the saloon, Andamo. How did you learn to fight like that?"

The younger man gave a weak smile. "I didn't like school and did my best not to go there. I usually ended up playing with my compadres at the port, or in the forest. My education was rather… sparse. My parents were mad at me, first because they were school teachers, my own school teachers, then because it was dangerous to play in the streets with my friends because a few of them were revolucionarios. El president's Guardia Militar killed two of them, Alfonso and Pedro, right in front of my eyes. I grew up in the streets of Chobolobo and learnt to fight there, when I was just a boy."

Nodding, Artie patted the younger man's arm soothingly. "I'm sorry. So my son and his wife are both teachers, that's a noble profession. Do they still teach children, in Mexico?"

Andamo shook his head and winced. "No, they have retired. They have a small ranch and are raising Spanish horses. My mom loves them."

He closed his eyes and a moment later he was fast asleep.

Rubbing his temples tiredly Artemus yawned and then looked at the portable bunk stored there, leaning against the bulkhead, in case someone needed it.

He yawned again, his eyes closing, feeling himself drifting off to sleep. He settled on the portable bunk a few seconds later massaging his achy right knee and closed his eyes as exhaustion swept over him.

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 _Later, in the evening_

It was almost dark in the POTUS's sleeping compartment when Jim struck a match on the bulkhead and lit the gas lamp.

He sat on the edge of the bed on which Andamo was sprawled and the younger man looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, hair tousled. "Well, you had quite a first day here Andamo. Hopefully it's not like that every day. But it's true that Artie and I are often beaten up, knocked out – mostly Artie - stabbed, and hit by a bullet or two…" He chuckled. "There have been beds with our names on them at the Washington Military Hospital for 20 years now."

Opening his eyes completely, Andamo tried to smile but it hurt so badly that he capitulated. "Living at your time and being secret agents is dangerous, but I have my fair share of bad days too…" He lifted a hand and observed his bruised, sore knuckles for a few seconds. He lowered his arm and then he looked up at Jim. "Lucky and I always live with a gun in our chest of drawers on board the _Fortuna II_ or in our pocket when we come ashore." He turned his head to look at Artie lying on his side on a portable bunk, lightly snoring and facing the bulkhead of the sleeping compartment, "Is he okay? He looks tired, no, more like exhausted."

Placing his hand on Artie's broad back, Jim smiled reassuringly. "Yes, he's alright. He had a pretty rough mission before you came here, that left him completely exhausted. He needs rest. Don't worry, Artemus Gordon is indestructible."

The Latino gritted his teeth and a moment later he was rising into a sitting position with Jim' help, the movement sending spikes of pain through his muscles. Thanks!" He looked at the older man again and said, "He was my hero when I was a boy, you know? Artemus Gordon, the famous federal agent fighting the bad guys… He died 10 years before I was born, I never knew him but I missed him. I had my grandmother's stories, my father's stories too, I had photos, letters, my dad showed me his sketchbooks he was keeping like precious relics… but he wasn't there. I so wanted him to be alive, like my grandmother was, but he was dead. I wanted to be like him, you know, some kind of white knight fighting for the good side, with his big guns and his incredible gadgets…"

Sitting beside Artemus, on the edge of the narrow portable bunk, Jim said, "From what you told us about your life, you too fight for the good side."

The Latino nodded. "My gun is not as big as yours, but it's a good gun, but I don't have mini knock-out gas bombs hidden in my jacket."

Jim let out a small huff of amusement. "In his jacket and in any of his other clothes too. He even has underwear with concealed explosives and fuses." He gently rolled his best friend on his back to check if he was okay eliciting a moan from the older man, but he didn't wake. He added, "There's only one Artemus Gordon." He observed his partner's slack and relaxed face, took his pulse at his throat, which was slow and steady, he noticed and said, "He's fine."

Relieved Andamo smiled. "You two are very close, like brothers."

Jim nodded. "Yes. He's actually my blood brother, but you know that I guess. He's family."

Andamo nodded. "Like Lucky and me. He's my best friend and my partner, and my big brother too. He's very protective toward me. He's family too."

Jim removed Artemus' boots, opened the top of his shirt, took a blanket from the cupboard and draped it over his partner's shoulders. "Artie is like an older brother to me too. And he's very protective toward me also, and I with him. We're very close - again."

The Latino nodded. "That's a good thing. My dad told me that you were very cross about something before parting after you both retired. He didn't tell me what though."

Jim smiled. "It's a long story. But we're together again, it's the most important thing – until we both decide to retire, for good, this time."

Feeling sluggish Andamo felt his eyes begin to droop as he was suddenly terribly tired. He yawned and let out, his voice weak and slurred, "it's good to have my grand-father watching over me…"

Soon he was fast asleep.

The train whistle blew and the Wanderer started to move.

WWW

 _Three days later, Denver, Colorado_

Smiling broadly, Andamo looked at his reflection in the mirror of the presidential sleeping compartment, admiring himself, very pleased by what he was seeing.

He was wearing new clothes. He was dressed in dark grey pants, high black boots, a red shirt and a black bolero jacket with silver buttons.

He put his brown gun belt adorned with a silver buckle around his hips and placed his hand on his shiny revolver, taking a threatening pose. "Don't mess with me, pal. I'm the fastest gun _ever_ in the West," he said then he chuckled softly.

The Latino entered the parlor car shortly after and asked the two men sitting there on each side of the table having breakfast, "How do I look?"

Upset, Artemus frowned and immediately glared at Jim. "I should have bought your clothes Andamo, not Jim. You look like a gunslinger."

Nodding, Andamo grinned. "Yes, I know, and I like it!"

Fishing a cookie out of a tin box Jim said, "That's what I wanted. Think about it! Dressed like that no one is going to mess with him again – or they'll hesitate before doing it, giving us time to act to protect him." He looked up and down at the younger man and smiled. "You're perfect Andamo. Your hat is on the couch, black with a silver band. It's a perfect match. You'll look great in it. Now come here. Artie prepared a delicious breakfast, you must be hungry. Take a seat."

Holding his cup of steaming coffee Artie was still upset. "He looks like Lightning McCoy – my version of Lightning McCoy.

Jim nodded. "Exactly. I know, I took inspiration from you. You were just perfect in that role Artie. That was one of your best disguises."

Taking his place beside Jim, Andamo poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped three pieces of brown sugar in it. "Oh yes! Lightning McCoy! My father told me that story a hundred times. It's so fantastic, so unreal – traveling in paintings. That's incredible! Unbelievable! And brilliant! Dr. Loveless was a genius – a mad genius, who tried to kill you both dozens of times, without success fortunately."

Scowling Artie said, "But he has a son, Michelito, who is as ruthless and dangerous as his father was, and we don't know where he is and what are his plans…He's probably preparing something very big and dreadful – and planning to kill Jim and me too. It's a family tradition of some sort."

Biting in his cookie, Jim nodded. "He has a daughter too, Carmelita. She's disappeared too, but she's less dangerous."

Pouring himself a third cup of coffee Artie gave Jim a long look. "She's exactly like him, plus she's sneaky. You said that because you kissed her!"

Placing a toast on a plate, Jim said, "It was just a goodbye kiss. I'm a married man, Artemus. I'm not running the petticoats anymore."

Pouring a lot of caramel sauce on top of the last pancake of the pile standing on his plate, Andamo said, "I'm famished!"

Eyes shining mischievously, Jim chuckled. "Another common point between the two Gordons: you both love to eat." He caught his partner's suspicious – and a bit hurt, look. "What? I didn't say anything."

Upset, Artie narrowed his eyes. "No, you didn't, but you're thinking a bit too loud, Jim. I can hear your thoughts. I'm not fat ... I've lost weight since I re-enlisted in the Secret Service."

Changing the topic of the conversation, Jim said, "We'll go into town after breakfast to see if you blend in well with the local population."

Cutting a piece of caramel-covered pancake with a spoon Andamo beamed. "I'd like to go to the saloon to test it… on the girls there."

Seeing that Artemus was frowning in worry, he added, "Don't worry Artie, we'll be at Andamo's side to protect him. But nothing's going to happen."

Frowning, Artie sighed. "You just jinxed us, Jim."

WWW

 _Later…_

Sitting in a carriage parked discreetly next to the railway station, Michelito Loveless half opened the blind on his left.

His eyes burning with revenge, he watched James West, Artemus Gordon and a third man he didn't know but he noticed was the spitting, and younger, image of the older secret agent – leave the Wanderer, heading to the main street. "Artemus' son?" he asked himself. "That's the only explanation, the resemblance is too striking!" He frowned with irritation then looked at the other man sitting opposite him. He was so tall that his shoulders were hunched and his massive white haired head was touching the top of the carriage. "My file on Artemus Gordon is incomplete, Voltaire. It would seem that Mr. Gordon has a son I didn't know about." He let out a sadistic laugh and added, "We'll soon have another guest I will really enjoy playing with – Gordon Junior."

Voltaire pointed at the Wanderer. "I will wait for them inside."

Loveless raised a finger and said, "Be careful Voltaire, I want them alive. Be gentle with them – your way of course."

The black-clad giant beamed, his look cold and cruel.

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _The Wanderer, at sunset_

Leaving the rear platform of the Wanderer, Artemus opened the door and was the first to enter the parlor car which was plunged in semi-darkness… and abruptly stopped when he recognized the well-known massive frame of Voltaire standing in front of him, baring his teeth in a snarl like an animal stalking its prey. Plus, Michelito Loveless sitting on the couch to the right.

His breath froze in his lungs and he felt his skin raise momentarily into goose pimples. He inhaled sharply. "Oh boy!" he let out, both stunned and afraid. He took a step back and turned around to warn Jim and Andamo of Loveless's and Voltaire's presence. Of danger too.

But he didn't have time to. Dr. Miguelito Loveless's former manservant and bodyguard punched Artemus right in his left temple, hard enough to knock out a bison, the force shoving his whole body sideways. Artie's eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled on the spot, vision going black, as he passed out.

Smiling like a shark, Voltaire barely registered Andamo's left hook to his jaw and, and, using his massive hand like a powerful hammer he slammed it on top of the younger man's head. The Latino collapsed on his knees, stars filling his vision, nearly losing consciousness.

Groaning in anger, Jim West pulled out his gun, but before he could press on the trigger, Voltaire grabbed his arm in an iron fist and sent him flying backward across the room. The agent crashed onto the coffee table with a huge force, head first. He rolled onto his side, limply, unconscious.

Michelito Loveless stood and used his cane to roll Andamo onto his back. "So, that's Gordon Jr. He really looks like his fa… Ow! It hurts!"

Gritting his teeth against the assaults of his pounding headache, Andamo kicked Loveless' knees a second time then struggled to his feet, swaying on rubber legs. He blinked, vision swirling.

Swaying on legs like jelly he grabbed his gun and aimed at the short, blond man. "You're going to pay for this, shorty!" he said.

Rubbing his aching knee Loveless just said, "Voltaire!"

The giant closed his hands on Andamo's neck and squeezed cutting off his air. Andamo struggled for air, writhing and spasming. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a heap on the carpeted floor, against the couch, with his head slumped forward and sank into unconsciousness.

Dr. Loveless smiled, very pleased. "Well done, Voltaire, well done. Junior here is as pesky as his dad. Now carry these men to the wagon outside. I look forward to being able to have fun with them."

WWW

 _Later in Loveless's hideout_

Michelito Loveless drumming his fingers on the armrest of his big throne-like armchair was starting to lose patience.

His caged prisoners were still unconscious and thus he couldn't 'play with them' like he wanted to do. Patience wasn't his forte.

He glared at Voltaire standing at his side. "I told you to be gentle with them! How long are they going to stay unconscious?"

Embarrassed the giant lowered his eyes. Then he looked at the three men sprawled on the floor of the big cage still passed out. "I'm sorry Doctor. I tried."

Loveless sighed waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Ah, it's not your fault, Voltaire, you're just pure brute force, and you don't know the limits of your formidable strength." He suddenly heard a moan then moved toward the thick solid bars. "Ah! Mr. Gordon Jr. is regaining consciousness. Good."

Slowly, groggily, Andamo opened his eyes. He moaned and brought up a hand to touch the bump on top of his aching head. At the sight of the ceiling he knew he wasn't in the Wanderer anymore and pulled himself into a sitting position, closing his eyes, wincing.

A wave of nausea told him he was moving far too fast, so he dropped his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He paused for a few seconds, waiting the nausea to go, and then, re-opening his eyes, he noticed that he was wearing only his 20th century black underpants. He blinked in surprise. "Huh?" Then he looked up and glared at the two men standing on the 'good side' of the large cage he was prisoner in, he noticed. The black-clad and white-haired giant was standing beside a short man draped in a red cape sitting in an armchair that looked like a gold-covered baroque throne.

He immediately recognized the intruders of the Wanderer. He frowned angrily. "Who are you? What do you want?"

A slow smile curled Michelito Loveless's lips. "Well, I'm glad you decided to wake up and join us. I was beginning to worry Voltaire had hit you too hard." Placing his hand to his chest, he said, "Let me introduce myself first. My name is Michelito Loveless, Doctor in… let's say multiple domains to be short, and genius extraordinaire - and this is Voltaire, my late father's favorite body guard and manservant – at my service now…"

Looking at Loveless 'junior' Andamo reflected, 'So this is Michelito Loveless… I was imagining him smaller than that… ' He frowned, puzzled. He couldn't remember his father telling him the story he was actually living right now. Why? Maybe because his son – he – was part of it and that he didn't want to frighten him with it? He mused. He remembered all the stories his father had told him about Loveless and shivered with dread. 'Oh, this is no good!' He thought chewing on his lower lip.

Loveless finished, "And provider of… old special agents of the Secret Service."

Hearing that, the Latino pivoted, finding himself sitting between Jim and Artie both lying on the floor, both still passed out.

They were wearing only their underwear too, he noticed. "I'd like to know why we're all half-naked," he asked Loveless.

Loveless replied, "I asked Voltaire to undress you to remove all your gadgets. I don't want you to escape using them."

Crouching between Jim and Artie, turning his back to Loveless and Voltaire, Andamo shook Jim's shoulder, then he did that to his grand-father. "Wake up! Come on! Wake up!"

But the two men remained dead to the world.

Michelito Loveless waved his hand in irritation. "Don't worry they're not dead. They're just old men now and thus less resistant than you are. They will regain consciousness eventually, later. Come here and let me take a close look at you."

Andamo crossed his arms on his chest. "No."

Immediately Voltaire pulled out a gun from the pocket of his black jacket. "Obey the Doctor!" he said, cocking the hammer.

The Latino complied reluctantly. "Satisfied?"

Dr. Loveless nodded. "Very. My goodness, you are the exact portrait of your father when he was your age. My father Miguelito - the greatest man who ever lived. Till I was born, of course - had photos of Artemus Gordon and James West and I saw them many times. He looked at them very often, while building schemes to kill them. It helped him to be creative, it stimulated him. What's your name?"

Scowling Andamo crossed his arms on his chest. "Go to hell!" he said.

In a flash Voltaire suddenly slid his free hand between two of the bars, closed it on the younger man's throat and squeezed the tender flesh there. "Your name, answer the Doctor," he growled.

Eyes open wide in surprise then fear Andamo let out a strangled croak, struggling to breathe. "An-da-mo, my name's Andamo," he breathed grimacing in pain.

Loveless smiled. "Andamo, that's a nice name. Andamo… is it Mexican?" The Latino nodded. "Oh, Voltaire, release Andamo before his face turns blue with lack of oxygen."

The big man released his grip and Andamo dropped to the ground like a stone. Once on his knees he bent forward, gasping for breath as he massaged his bruised throat.

Still curious about Andamo, the chubby man asked, "Are you an agent of the Secret Service like your father? I advise you to answer."

Shaking his head, Andamo said, "No, I'm not."

Loveless asked, "Then what are you?"

Moving into a sitting position the Latino just told the truth, to be credible, "My partner and associate Lucky and I have a restaurant, on a yacht."

The blond-haired man was surprised. "A floating restaurant? That's unusual!" He paused and said, "I know when someone's lying to me, it's a gift. And you didn't lie to me."

Jim opened his eyes and frowned, puzzled, seeing bars above him – and beyond that a ceiling decorated with elegant golden rosettes.

He propped himself up on his forearms and hissed. The back of his head hurt.

He noticed that he was wearing his underwear only and knew why: no clothes, no boots meant no hidden gadgets.

Then he saw a swaying Andamo, in his underwear too, trying to stand, gripping a bar of the cage. Yes it was a cage, he mused, a big solid one, located in a vast room, probably a ballroom which was richly decorated – and behind Andamo now on his feet, he saw Michelito Loveless sitting in a big golden armchair grinning like the madman he was and standing beside his new master an older but still dangerous Voltaire.

He sighed, his eyes gleaming with pain. "I knew that somehow, someday we'd see each other again," he said, sitting, grimacing at the massive headache which pulsated at his temples. "The last time we met was what 6 months ago? You took your time – Shorty." He glanced at Artie lying on his right, still passed out, and shook his arm. "Artie!" but the older man didn't react.

Michelito Loveless had a nervous twitch, his right eye began to flutter. "Don't call me that!" he groaned sending a black look at Jim.

Smirking, Jim replied, "Okay, what about pipsqueak?"

Loveless calmed down and let out a chuckle. "Call me whatever you want, I don't care." Pause. "Yes, I took my time. Better later than never Mr. West. I'm a busy man. I had to take care of my secret _empire_ and of my diversified criminal activities all around the world before thinking about how to kill James West and Artemus Gordon in a very creative way, because like my father, I'm an artist…." He touched his temple. "But you were still on my mind, I hadn't forgotten you."

Pointing his finger at Voltaire, Jim said, "I can see that you have recruited Voltaire."

Loveless nodded. "Yes, he was in prison for life – thanks to you and your partner – and I freed him. His help is priceless. He's a formidable garde-du-corps. He's scary and nobody resists his herculean strength." He looked down at Andamo who was kneeling beside the unconscious Artemus. "I have to modify my plan now that Mr. Gordon Jr. is here." He chuckled as Andamo shot him a black look. "Fiery young man!"

Groaning in pain, Artemus woke with his head pounding. "Aah… Jim? Wha… what? Ow!" he touched his fingers to his throbbing temple and grimaced. "Oh, boy! whaa h'pened?"

Grimacing in sympathy Andamo helped his grandfather to sit. "We've been kidnapped and locked in a big cage," he said.

His brow furrowed in concern Jim offered his hand to Artie who managed to stand up on unsteady legs and swayed. "You okay buddy?"

Shaking his head – regretting it instantly as his head felt like it had exploded, Artie swallowed and licked his lips. He rasped, "No…" The room lurched sideways, but he steadied himself. "No, I don't feel okay…Everything's spinning," And he was nauseous.

His frown deepening with alarm, Jim noticed Artie's pallor and strained features. He spotted a large purple bruise coloring a lump about the size of an egg on Artemus's left temple – where Voltaire had hit him. "You should sit, Artie before…"

Suddenly Artie's knees buckled. In a flash Andamo caught his grandfather before he hit the floor and gently laid him at his feet. "Easy. I think you have a concussion, don't move," he said, very worried.

Loveless intervened with impatience, "What is happening?"

Glaring at his captor, Jim said, "Artemus has a concussion, a head injury. Voltaire hit him far too hard. He almost knocked his head off!" Then he looked down at Artemus. His eyes were closed and his face was now ashen gray and he was sweating profusely. "Hey buddy, don't fall asleep okay? Grasping the other man's arm he began to gently shake him awake. "Artie, open your eyes. You have a concussion. No sleep allowed. You have to stay awake. Come on, open your eyes."

Eyes fluttering open Artemus moaned. "Let me sleee…eeep," he slurred.

Frowning, Andamo shook his head. "No, don't sleep, you could fall into a coma and never wake again, and you could die too."

Opening his eyes Artie gave his grandson a weak smile. "Not… going to happen. Will die… in my bed, remember?" He grimaced. "Oh boy… my head hurts so much…" He gingerly touched his left temple, unrelentingly throbbing, wincing at the feel of the big bump on it.

Michelito Loveless snapped his fingers, now irritated. "Voltaire, check Mr. Gordon Sr. to see if it's an act or not. It could be a trick."

Once the door of the cage was opened, Voltaire headed toward the three prisoners with a feral grin on his face. The short man closed the cage again behind the giant.

Standing, Andamo moved to intercept the henchman. "Don't touch him!" He said before hitting Voltaire in his stomach twice.

But it had no effect. It was like hitting a stone wall, he thought. And he gulped, taking a step back.

Snarling, all teeth, Voltaire with the back of his hand propelled Andamo across the cage like he was an annoying fly. Andamo slammed against the bars, his head hitting them with a crack, and he slid down the wall to land in a heap on the floor. Then the giant moved toward Jim, ready to pummel the agent if he raised a hand to him, enjoying it in anticipation. But Jim didn't move.

Disappointed, Voltaire groaned, showing his frustration. Andamo lifted a hand to touch the blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth, working his painful jaw and rubbing the back of his pounding head.

His face neutral Jim took a step back slowly, not doing anything else. He knew that fighting Voltaire would serve nothing – except being hurt again. And he needed to be in one piece to be able to find a way to escape with Artie and Andamo, he mused. "Easy with Artie, Voltaire, he really is in a bad shape," he said to Loveless's black shadow.

Ignoring Jim's remark, the very tall, large man wrapped a giant hand around Artemus's shoulder, yanking him up and to his feet, effortlessly.

Immediately stars exploded in Artemus's vision and he had a sudden, intense spell of vertigo. He scrunched his eyes closed and his mouth closed as well as nausea rolled through him. Bile burned the back of his throat and he swallowed it, choking.

He stumbled and let out a pained and strangled hiss as he tried to free himself from Voltaire's grasp, and everything went gray. His vision blackened and he passed out.

The giant took a closer look at the unconscious agent, then dropped him unceremoniously to the floor before heading back toward the door. "He really is sick," he reported to Loveless. as he exited the cage. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I hit him too hard."

Michelito Loveless gritted his teeth in anger. "Because of you Voltaire, I have to redefine what I intend to do with Mr. Gordon Sr. And I'm not happy."

The giant lowered his eyes, contrite. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he repeated.

Loveless watched Andamo sit cross-legged beside his 'father' and cushion his head in his lap. "Mr. Gordon Sr. is out of commission Voltaire, but Mr. Gordon Jr. is not. He's going to take his father's place for what I had intended for him. Voltaire bring Andamo here, outside the cage. And do not hurt him, or I will have you back in prison in no time!"

Knowing that it wasn't an idle threat, Voltaire nodded and said, "Yes, Doctor." Then he entered the cage again heading toward Andamo. "You, get up!" he ordered.

The Latino glared at the giant, not impressed at all and crossed his arms over his chest. "Make me!" he said courageously, protecting Artie's head with his arms.

In a flash, Jim placed himself in front of Voltaire and was rapid enough to intercept Voltaire's large hand before it reached Andamo's shoulder. "Don't touch him!"

Seeing Voltaire let out a predatory grin as he was ready to hit Jim, Andamo said, "Wait! Don't hurt him! I'm coming with you." He gently lowered Artie's head to the ground and stood. "It's going to be alright," he said to a deeply concerned Jim. He joined Loveles. outside the cage shortly after. Voltaire locked it behind him. "I'm here Doctor. Do whatever you want to do to me, but let them alone."

Michelito Loveless was sincerely impressed. "You're very courageous Andamo. Your father must be very proud of you."

The younger man crossed his arms on his chest defiantly. "And now what?"

Dr. Loveless chuckled, "Follow me, and don't try to escape, otherwise Voltaire here will crush you like you were a mere fly on a wall."

WWW

 _Later, in Loveless's dining room_

Loveless, Andamo and Voltaire entered the dining room shortly after. Three of the walls were covered with paintings; the fourth was occupied by a large machine.

Michelito Loveless smiled broadly. "These paintings belonged to my father. He painted them all. He was quite an artist don't you think?"

His face neutral, Andamo said nothing, pretending not to be interested.

But he was.

He was fascinated even. If he had never seen any of those paintings he knew a lot about them. Thanks to a complicated device, those paintings opened to a new dimension that Loveless Sr. had discovered. The machine could be primed with a tuning fork. Then once ready, a simple metallic sound activated it, and it could send people into the paintings or make people come out from them.

It was in one of those paintings, in a saloon, that Miguelito Loveless had brought James West with the intention to have Lightening McCoy kill him in a duel…

But it wasn't the real Lightening McCoy Jim dueled, but Artemus disguised as Lightening McCoy. And then, once back in the "real' world, Jim had killed the real Lightening McCoy. He wondered if Jim was still the fastest gun in the west now that he was older.

He was suddenly very afraid realizing that Loveless was probably going to send him into one of the paintings and that the machine activating the whole thing was surely the one on the wall in front of him. 'No, no, no…' And he ended up his musing here.

Looking casual, he crossed his arms on his chest, "They're nice. But I'm not interested in art. It's boring." 'And it's the truth', he thought.

Michelito Loveless chuckled, "You prefer your duty as a special agent and women, of course, like your father. Speaking of your father, did he tell you anything about these peculiar paintings Andamo?"

The Latino shook his head. "No." 'But my father Feliz, did'.

Loveless 'junior' raised a finger. "You're lying. I saw your eyes light up with interest when you were feigning uninterest in them." He shook his head and tsk-tsked. "You're a bad actor, Andamo. Perhaps you should take some lessons from your father. No, it's a bad idea." He sighed, with an expression of faux sympathy on his face, he said, "I'm so sorry to tell you this but his last play called 'The Society Ladies Revenge' that he wrote, directed and played in, was a disaster. He was booed and people threw things at him on the stage. He was a very good actor when he was younger my father told me, but with age… everything declines, talent included. But I'm sure he kept that misadventure to him… in order not to feel ashamed in front of you." He stepped on a chair and placed his hand on the painting on his right and continued his monologue, "My first intention was to send Mr. West into this painting – as you can see it's a desert with no possibility of coming out of it by making any metallic sound - then bring it to Mr. Gordon. I wanted to make a bargain with him. I wouldn't destroy the painting killing his partner in the process, if he killed himself, in front of me. Once Mr. Gordon was dead by his own hand, I'd send his body into the painting. I wanted James West to die in that desert, from heatstroke, alone, mourning his dead friend." He came down from the chair and finished, "But, as you're here, you're going to take Mr. West's place in the picture, as for the rest of my plan, I will make some modifications."

Going extremely pale and his eyes widening, Andamo took a step back, cold seeping into his bones. He was horrified. He bumped into Voltaire who grabbed his arms in a bear grip. "No, you can't do that!" He said through gritted teeth.

Loveless grinned madly, pulling a tuning fork from his inside pocket. "Oh yes I can, and I will. Voltaire, hold our guest while I activate my father's device."

The Latino tried to free himself, elbowing and kicking the giant but Voltaire didn't release him. He progressively ceased to struggle as it served nothing.

Finally realizing something, Andamo had a sudden inner smile. Artemus wouldn't die today because he would die in his bed in 1910. Something was going to happen, he didn't know what but Artemus Gordon and he would survive.

Michelito Loveless pulled on the bell cord and two armed goons entered the room a few seconds later. "Bring Mr. Gordon Sr. here. It's time for him to die."

WWW

 _In the meantime, in the cage_

Feeling as weak as a newborn kitten Artemus stood, Jim helping him. His knees were wobbling, he was shaking and he was cold.

He had to lean against the bars of the 'cage' to stay upright.

He buried his face in his hands, pain stabbing his injured temple. "Ooooh… that's official, it's the most terrible headache I ever got in my whole life."

Jim smiled. "It's good to have you back Artie. You had me worried, buddy."

Artie leaned heavily against the bars of the cage and closed his eyes shut. Jim gently tapped the side of his partner's face. "Hey, don't pass out on me again."

The older man shook his head, wincing while doing so. "It's not my intention. But boy, it hurts!" He looked around him and said, "We have to find a way to get out of here. We have to find Andamo. Loveless is doing God knows what to him!" He took several deep breaths, settling the nausea his headache was causing. "We have to help him, Jim."

Frowning, as he didn't know how to do that, Jim nodded. "I know that Artie, and I'm open to any suggestions." Looking down at Artie's underwear, he asked, "Are you wearing your special underwear? You know, the one with the hidden explosive and fuses?"

Smiling weakly, Artie replied, "No, it's just standard underwear, but from now on, I'm going to weaponize all my underwear." Both frustrated and terribly worried, he suddenly hit the bars with his hand, so hard that his knuckles started to bleed. "Damn! We can't do anything to help him!" He lowered his eyes and let out a strangled sob, his eyes filling with tears. "Jim, if something happens to Andamo…"

Sharing Artemus's frustration and worry, Jim took his best friend in his arms, not knowing what to say to the older man crying softly in distress. He just held him tight.

Calming down, Artie parted from his best friend and wiped the tears rolling on his face with the back of his still intact hand. "Thank you, Jim."

Pressing Artie's shoulder warmly, Jim smiled. "Anytime, pal."

Shaken by a series of shivers, Artemus looked at the door, paling even more. "I have a bad feeling Jim. Death is coming for us…" he said, his expression grim.

A devastating feeling of dread settled in his stomach.

WWW

 _Later, in the dining room_

Eyes cold, showing his teeth wildly, Voltaire had Andamo pinned to the floor, brutally pressing on the back of the younger man's neck with his foot to maintain him in a kneeling position, when Artemus entered the room, framed by two of Loveless's henchmen, holding a gun each.

Charging ahead toward Loveless, glaring at him, Artemus commanded, "Tell Voltaire to release Andamo immediately!" Then he flinched when he felt the end of a revolver poke his back. He stopped and then added, "Do it, Junior!"

Michelito Loveless smiled. "Tell me the magic word, Mr. Gordon and I'll order Voltaire to. Come on, it's not that difficult."

Pursing his lips, scowling, Artie said, "Please."

The short man snapped his fingers. "Voltaire bring Andamo here, next to that painting of a desert. Make sure he's stays there."

Complying, the giant next dragged Andamo to the said painting and hit the younger man in his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. The Latino let out an 'oof', sank to his knees, bile welling up to his throat and pooling there. He coughed and swallowed.

Growling like an angry bear, Artemus leaped on Voltaire and punched his cheek before pushing him backward, hard. That move exhausted him and his vision blurred. He felt his shaking legs wobble beneath him. "Don't touch him! Or I swear I'll find a way to kill you," he said his voice low and cold, hatred in his eyes, not impressed at all by the giant's menacing fists.

Michelito Loveless raised his hand. "That's enough!" he thundered. Then taking a musical triangle from a table, he added, "You do recognize my father's brilliant device Mr. Gordon, and those beautiful paintings that he painted himself, don't you?"

Frowning in concern, Artemus nodded. "Yes, I do." And shivered when he realized that Loveless intended to use it.

He looked down at Andamo, rolled in a ball, wincing in pain then up at the painting representing the desert. Loveless was going to send him there – to die. "Don't do it!" He said his voice full of worry. "Don't send him to that desert, please."

Michelito Loveless beamed with deep, exhilarating pleasure. "Two 'pleases' in less than two minutes… that's extraordinary! My father never managed to make you say a single 'please'… "He looked up and said, "Do you hear that father? Artemus Gordon said please, twice. He begs me, implores me…" Then he looked back at Artemus who looked suddenly very old. "No."

Feeling like he had been punched in the gut, Artemus let out, "I'm not going to let you do that!" while black points invaded his vision.

But as he moved toward Loveless, he found Voltaire in his way. The giant snarled and shoved Artie away, knocking the other man off balance, cracking a rib in the process.

Crying out in pain, the breath being driven from him, Artemus stumbled back, and he collapsed, slamming to the ground in a heap as his breath came out in heaves.

Grimacing, struggling to regain his breath, Artemus stayed there, laid on his side, unable to pick himself up, his limbs refusing to cooperate.

Feeling totally helpless he watched Loveless pull a lever, powering up the machine and tap the tuning fork he was holding on the side of the device. "Noooo," he wheezed, holding his painful chest.

The tuning fork immediately emitted a clear, powerful, long sound. Loveless Jr. then pointed it at sensors triggered by a specific frequency, and repetitive metallic sounds resounded while colored lights blinked. He did it again and white lights spiraled on panels and colored tubes lit up.

Pulling himself into a sitting position after two failed attempts, Artemus croaked, "Let me take his place, you want me dead, not Andamo…"

Loveless smiled. "I want you dead, yes, but I have planned a different kind of death for you." He touched the painting showing dunes of golden sand. "It's a painting of a part of the desert of Dasht-e-Lut, in south-eastern Persia, also called the 'desert of emptiness'. It's one of the world's driest and hottest places, totally devoid of water and vegetation. There's nothing there except vast stone and dune fields. Men like animals are scorched by the heat in a matter of a few hours and they die, especially if they don't have water." He took the musical triangle placed on a nearby table and said, "Say farewell to your son, Mr. Gordon…" he hit the triangle with a metal rod and Andamo progressively dematerialized before he vanished altogether.

Horrified Artemus blanched and gasped. "No!" Then tears welled up in his eyes.

Michelito Loveless clapped his hands like a delighted child. "Oh yes! Your dear Andamo is now in that desert, Mr. Gordon, with no protection whatsoever and not a single drop of water. How long do you think he is going to last? Time is different in that other dimension, as you know _Mr. faux Lightning McCoy_. It flows faster than here, a lot faster… seconds are like hours there…"

Moving on his knees, his movements sluggish, crying silently, Artie pleaded, "Bring him back. I'll do anything you want, but bring him back, please."

Loveless gave a large carnivorous smile. "I was hoping to hear you say that Mr. Gordon. I have something in mind for you, actually… " He paused looking at Artie's strained face, savouring his expression of anguish and distress. "Do you want to know what is it?"

Nodding, Artie rasped, "Tell me…please."

New pause.

Moving toward a dresser on which was sitting a bottle of old Sherry and a red-colored glass, Dr. Loveless smiled and said, "Another please, I love that, I could hear you beg all day long…" And he took his time, pouring a little of the liquor into the Bohemian crystal glass.

He took a sip and said, "My father loved Sherry."

Growing impatient, fearful for Andamo's life Artemus growled, "Tell me, damnit!" Each second in that desert brought him closer to death, he thought.

WWW

 _In the Dasht-e-Lut_

Looking around him for nth time, Andamo tried to spot something which could provide some shade, but there was nothing.

Nothing but small pointy rocks and extremely hot sand and the blazing sun.

He continued to move straight ahead in the sun beat down shadeless plain, waiting for his grandfather's help, his feet burning and bleeding.

Breathing the hot, dry, oppressive air was torture. He knew that Artemus Gordon would bring him back, somehow. "But soon would be great," he croaked then licked his parched lips.

He was tempted to remove his underwear to wrap it turban-like around his head, to protect it from the sun, but grimaced at the image of his sunburnt private parts. 'Bad idea,' he thought. He glanced at his forearms and suppressed a curse.

His skin was angry red — the color of a cooked lobster and it would hurt. And soon he would have third degree burns.

His skin was going to blister.

He mopped his sweating brow with the back of his hand. "Thirsty, I'm so thirsty..." He rasped then ran a hand through his hair which was damp and matted. "It's so hot… hotter than hell," and continued to trudge in the stark emptiness of the surrounding desert, wincing with each step.

He stopped half a mile away.

He bent down, hands on his knees as the pounding in his head increased. A dizzy spell hit him and he closed his eyes as the world spun.

He knew what those telltales signs meant: a heatstroke was coming. He straightened himself and started to move again, dragging his feet onto the grayish sand. "Hurry grandfather…"

WWW

Michelito Loveless shook his head, his eyes cold. "Not yet, I haven't finished my Sherry." Then he took a new sip, and thirty seconds later, another one.

Enjoying Artie's agonized face, he finally put the empty glass onto the table and pulled out a silver box from the inside pocket of his golden jacket.

He opened it and took a syringe pre-filled with a yellow liquid. "It's a powerful poison," he said. "Let me tell you what you can do for me, Mr. Gordon. To save Andamo – your son - from a horrible death, I want you kill yourself with this poison. Do it and I will bring Andamo back before it's too late for him." Then he moved toward the USSS agent and reached out.

Feeling sick Artemus took the poison-filled syringe and looked at the painting showing a part of the Sahara desert, easily picturing the younger man suffering from terrible heat in that other dimension. He must save him, at any cost… even his own life.

But he was puzzled and frowned. How could he die in his own bed in 1910, aged 80, if he poisoned himself now and died? A man couldn't die twice. Frustrated Artie sighed. He couldn't find any logical solution for that problem - and he had no time to investigate it further.

Dr. Loveless was growing impatient. "Well, Mr. Gordon? Poison or not poison? Your son's life is literally in your hand. Time's ticking, tic-toc, tic-toc…"

Artemus moved the needle to the crook of his left elbow, paused and said, "You want to avenge the death of your father by killing me, okay, but Andamo has never interfered in your father's affairs or yours. He's innocent. Promise me that you will release him safe and sound, after your revenge is satisfied."

Dr. Loveless nodded. "I give you my word. He will be able to return from where he is safe and sound, I promise. Now Mr. Gordon."

Nodding, Artie injected the poison into his vein. Then, looking up at Loveless 'junior' he said, "I just killed myself, now bring Andamo back."

Michelito Loveless smiled. "Of course. I always keep my promises." He moved toward the dining table, took the carafe of water sat in the middle of the gold-coloured embroidered table runner, and filled a glass with the refreshing liquid.

He hit the musical triangle and the very big machine re-started. New metallic sounds resounded…etc. and one minute later Andamo materialized, standing on wobbly legs, staggering, sweating profusely, his hair flat on his scalp, covered in sand, his underwear drenched. His sunburn skin had started to blister here and there, especially on his face and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. His feet were covered with blistering sunburns too and bleeding cuts.

Michelito Loveless surveyed the Latino pleased at the sun-damage and said, "I knew you would survive. You are as strong as your father, no, stronger as you are younger than him. Here."

Taking the glass of water, he handed it to Andamo who immediately brought it against his cracked lips and he swallowed eagerly ignoring the sharp pain at the back of his throat and his body immediately relaxed at the coolness of the refreshing water. He drank the whole glass.

Smiling in relief, black spots dancing into his vision, Artemus whispered hoarsely, "Anda… Andamo my boy… you're… you're safe now."

Loveless 'junior' nodded. "Andamo is back. The first part of my vengeance is done…" He rubbed his hands in glee and a split second later his gaze hardened. He added, "Now it's Mr. West's turn to die." He looked up and said, "I'm doing this for you father, one down, one to go."

Glaring at Loveless a last time, Artie croaked, "Not here… You're looking… in the wrong direction," then his skin began to crawl. A split second later, he screamed a sudden violent pain erupted in his chest. His face contorted in pain, he started coughing and gasping for air. His hands gripped the edge of the Persian carpet he was thrashing on, as he began to hyperventilate.

He shivered, growing cold, numbness rapidly extending to all his limbs. His ears were ringing and his vision swimming.

He felt heavy and tired. With a convulsive move, he released a last breathe, his vision blurring before fading into black.

His head lolled to the side as he went limp, teary eyes wide open and glassy – blank, lifeless, fixed on the ceiling above.

His face went from pained to peaceful. He was dead and gone already.

His face horror-stricken, Andamo dropped the empty glass at his feet, where it broke and then he stumbled toward Artemus.

He sank to his knees beside his grandfather and shook the lifeless man's shoulder. "No, no, that can't be…" He said brokenly. He noticed the empty syringe in his hand – and immediately thought _poison_. "No, no. Why? Why did you do that?" he asked in disbelief.

Loveless watched the scene, bouncing with intense satisfaction. " Why? Your heroic father poisoned himself to save you Andamo, His life against yours. Next it will be Mr. West's turn – to end up in the vast stone and sand dune fields, to die there, alone, devoured inside by thirst and burnt by the sun and its heat."

Shaking his head in denial Andamo was crying his eyes out. "You can't die; you can't die… that's impossible. You can't die, no, not now…"

Loveless chuckled. "Artemus Gordon wasn't immortal after all. My father tried again and again to kill him, without success and eventually considered that he was immortal, but he wasn't." He opened his arms with an expression of triumph. "I killed him, I'm really better than my father."

Choking down a sob, hot tears flowing down his face, Andamo stared at the prone and inert form of Artemus Gordon lying beside him, and with a trembling hand he closed the empty eyes. Then, he scrambled to his feet, his face like stone. His eyes burned with determination and his fists were trembling with both immense grief and pure unadulterated rage.

Michelito Loveless, suddenly anxious for his life, took an involuntary step back at the look of sheer hatred in the other man's eyes. "Voltaire, seize him!"

His eyes flashing and darkening, Andamo, said, "I'm going to kill you!" his voice trembling with anger and rage, and charged on Loveless.

He punched the short man in his ribs, hard, and Loveless collapsed on the ground, flat on his back, crying out in pain and gasping for breath.

His eyes dark and cold, Andamo leaped on Loveless 'Junior' like a tiger on its prey, pinning him to the floor and straddled his legs. Then he closed his hands around the other man's neck, squeezing. "You're going to die!" He repeated.

But Voltaire intervened. He gripped Andamo's arm and lifted the Latino as if he weighed nothing. He sent him flying through the air then knelt beside Loveless, helping him to sit then to stand. "Are you alright Doctor?" he asked worriedly. Then he glanced at Andamo sprawled on the carpet between two chairs, unconscious, a nasty cut bleeding on his forehead. "He hurt you. I'm going to kill him." he growled.

Rubbing his bruising neck, the blond-haired man shook his head. "No, Voltaire, don't. I gave the late Artemus Gordon my word. I'm going to release him, safe and sound." He walked to the bell cord hanging next to the door and pulled on it. Soon after, a burly man entered the room. "Ah! Caldwell, take Mr. Gordon Jr. here back to the Wanderer."

The thug hoisted a passed out Andamo onto his shoulder and left. "Now Voltaire, bring Mr. West here for the last part of my plan."

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _In Loveless's dining room, later_

His face losing color, James West felt tears sting his eyes as he sank to his knees beside Artemus lying on the floor, pale and still. "Artie, no," he croaked, his mouth bone dry.

He pressed two fingers against his partner's throat – no pulse. Artemus wasn't breathing anymore. He was dead and growing cold.

His face was serene, relaxed.

Michelito Loveless sitting on his throne look-alike armchair, Voltaire standing at his side, was beaming. "My goal – and before me, my father's goal - is almost achieved. Artemus Gordon is dead, now it's James West's turn to die."

Feeling lightheaded dizzy, nauseous, Jim reached out to brush his fingers over Artie's stubbled cheek, a look of disbelief on his face. "That can't be. He can't be dead." he breathed, in total incomprehension. 'He can't. Artie died in 1910, in his bed', he thought. "It's a trick." He rasped.

Dr. Loveless shook his head. "Oh, I assure you Mr. West, your best friend and partner is really dead, and there's no trick, believe me."

Blinking away the prickling of tears in his eyes Jim noticed the empty syringe in Artemus' s limp hand and he frowned, intrigued. "What happened?"

Loveless waved his hand. "I won't go into detail because time is short. I look forward to removing you, completely from 'the picture' as soon as possible…" He giggled. "By sending you _into the picture_! Move toward that painting representing the desert of Dasht-e-Lut, Mr. West."

The two henchmen framing Jim poked his sides with their revolvers, but Jim didn't move. "What happened?" He repeated.

Glancing at Artemus Gordon's corpse, Loveless responded, "Let's just say that your partner sacrificed himself. He injected himself with poison in exchange for Andamo's life. He died in horrible suffering… " Then he laughed morbidly. He added, "By the way, Mr. Gordon Jr. will soon be back on your train. He's a little bruised and sunburnt, but he'll be fine."

Closing his eyes briefly, Jim felt relief flooding him. Andamo was safe. He looked up at Loveless 'Junior', his face crumpled. 'If Artie's dead, I can die too. But somehow, he and I won't stay dead, we'll live again… to die, he in 1910 and me in 1932, and that second death will be finite, permanent. But not the coming one,' He thought. He nodded and started to softly stroke Artie's forehead. "Alright, kill me, Shorty. Artie's keeping some good whiskey for me up there, and I don't want to make him wait."

Loveless was first very surprised by James West's reaction expecting from him a last big hurrah, like punching his two employees in the face, grab a gun and pointing it at him in order to kill him to end up inevitably with Voltaire neutralizing him. And, he knew, Voltaire was ready to act, like a fierce beast lurking in the bushes, ready to attack… But no.

Nothing.

The legendary Secret Service man had just quit without a fight and was ready to die. Then he understood what had just happened. Breaking James West was so easy, he mused. He had hit right at his Achilles heel: Artemus Gordon.

No Artemus Gordon, no James West. It was so simple, he thought. "Very well Mr. West, move toward that painting, the one with the desert," he said.

Jim knew that he would die in that desert, alone, from intense heat and thirst. He didn't care. Artie and he would be together again, and alive. Somehow.

He lifted Artemus's limp body in his arms. "I'm taking him with me, if you don't mind. Together till the end," he simply said and moved toward the painting of the Dasht-e-Lut.

He stopped next to it.

Michelito Loveless took the music triangle and before making it sound, he said, "I wanted to burn that painting after you had stepped inside it, Mr. West, but I think that I'm going to keep it knowing that Mr. Gordon and you, you'll be there, dead, lying on the sand, your bones bleached by the sun." He gave the special agent a triumphal grin and added, "You have lost, I have won. I always win, and I dedicate this fulfilled revenge to my late father." He lifted his eyes heavenward. "It's for you, father." Then he laughed gleefully.

Glancing at Loveless one last time, his voice flat, Jim said, "You're looking the wrong way, he's not in heaven, but in hell."

WWW

 _The Wanderer, later_

Andamo regained consciousness sprawled on one of the couches of the parlor car. He slowly sat up, his head pounding, and winced. He touched his forehead and found a cut there and some dried blood. He glanced around him. "Artemus? Jim?" he called but only the silence answered him.

He was alone.

In a flash, he remembered everything and felt tears well up in his eyes. Yes, he was alone here. His grandfather was dead, poisoned, and Jim, trapped in the picture of the desert would die too, if he wasn't dead already, he thought.

He shook his head in disbelief. "How is it possible?" he asked himself. "Artemus died in 1910 and James in 1932… The only explanation is… I changed that. And I know how." He ran toward Artie's lab and found what he looked for in a corner of the room: a large wooden box. On the top of it was written: Washington Archeological Museum: statue of god Otepek. Fragile." Here you are…" he opened the box hastily, pulled the gold statuette out then set it on the long work table. "You're going to help me stop that madness…"

Excited, Andamo took a step back, then said, "Otepek, Otepek, Otepek." He couldn't help but gasp in surprise as a sudden bright and paralyzing light, coming out from nowhere, enveloped him.

Even if he knew Otepek wouldn't hurt him somehow, he couldn't help but feel himself grow cold and the hair on his neck stood on end.

He felt then the presence of the god in his head, exploring.

He took a deep, calming breath. 'You probed my head, you know what happened to Artemus and Jim. I reverently ask you to send me back in time, again, before the whole thing went wrong, before Loveless and his giant right-hand man showed up. I must warn Artemus of the danger before it's too late. Please, please.'

Otepek responded. [If I do so]," the god 'said' in Andamo's head, [All which will have taken place between the kidnapping and now, will cease to exist. If I do so, you will meet the other you, but by doing that I will create a parallel time line to the 'original one'. And two Andamo Gordons coming from two different time lines can't live in the same one. It would affect both of you, I mean you could both die and it would create catastrophic problems in the time continuum and Time Laws forbid it.]

Frowning, puzzled, Andamo said, 'Time line? Time continuum? I'm sorry, Otepek, but I don't understand everything…'

Otepek continued, [But there's a solution…]

Nodding Andamo, swallowed hard and resigned to his fate, he said in his head, 'I know that solution. I'm going to have to die. So that the other me can live.'

The God added, [But you won't have to kill yourself for that. In a sense you will die, but not. I will use my powers to make you merge with the other you. You will live together with the other Andamo as one, one body, one mind, one soul. Your knowledge and experience will be added to his. That way, he'll know everything you lived through after the kidnapping. You will have to say my name third a time so I can inhabit my statue to be able to be here, then touch the other you's chest so that I can initiate the 'transfer'.] Sensing the human's anxiety and fear of vanishing, he then added, [You won't feel a thing, Andamo, I promise.]

Lowering his eyes, Andamo thought, 'Okay.' He took a deep breath. 'No more me, but a me plus, a me squared. But Artemus and Jim will be alive and that's the most important thing to me.' He closed his eyes. 'Go ahead; send me back in time, before Loveless and Voltaire show up.'

[Good-bye Andamo.]

The bright light paralyzing Andamo increased in intensity and he closed his eyes against the now blinding brightness.

He moaned as a sudden wave of dizziness submerged him and blackness enveloped him.

He vanished.

WWW

 _Before_

Reeling, Andamo blinked and swallowed feeling a bit nauseous. He grabbed the golden railing, waiting for the sensation of vertigo to pass.

Then, he looked around him. He had just materialized on the rear platform of the Wanderer. "It worked!" he said as he looked around him. The sun had just risen, it was still early. The place was deserted, no one, no vehicles, no Loveless and no Voltaire in sight.

He knocked at the glass panel of the door and entered the parlor car. He found Jim, Artemus and Andamo sitting around the dining table, eating their breakfast.

Saying that the three - frozen-in-motion men - inside were more than stunned to see him was an understatement. "Hi!" he said with a sheepish smile. "I have something very important to tell you. So don't shoot, okay?" He took a step forward.

Like Jim and Andamo, Artie glanced at the other Andamo standing next to the door, in his underwear, noticing that he was covered with angry red sunburns and blisters and all bruised up, that his lips were cracked and that he had a nasty cut on his forehead with dried blood and there was dried blood on his feet too, covered with lots of cuts and heavily sunburnt.

But he reacted first, "What's going on here?"

Heaving a long sigh, the Andamo from the future said, "It's a long story…" and grimaced as his whole body looked like it was on fire.

Frowning in worry, Artie stood and then headed toward his other grandson and stopping in front of the other man, said, "I'm sure there's a good explanation for your presence here, my boy, but first I need to take care of those burns on your skin…"

Shaking his head Andamo replied, "There's no need…" Then, even if he knew it would hurt, a lot, he engulfed his grandfather in a tight hug, resting his head against the older man's shoulder. "You're alive!" he said, big tears filling his eyes and joy and relief in his heart. He winced.

Puzzled, Artemus resisted the temptation to hug his grandson back, because it would hurt him. "Why? I shouldn't be alive?"

Shaking his head, Andamo parted from his grandfather and said, "No. Long story short, I come from the future where Jim and you are dead. Michelito Loveless has killed you both." He saw the three other men's faces break down in shock. "It's a long story. I'll be right back. Stay here."

He made a beeline to the lab, and once there, he placed his hand on the box containing Otepek's statuette and said, "Otepek, Otepek, Otepek."

Immediately a sudden bright and paralyzing light, coming out from nowhere, enveloped him. He felt himself grow cold. Then he felt the presence of the god in his head, exploring.

Otepek said, [You can't stay here for a long time. Problems in the time continuum will appear soon. Go find the others.]

And Andamo went back to the parlor car.

Once there, he told the others, "Otepek granted me the power to travel back in time, again so I could tell you that Voltaire and Loveless will be here, in the parlor car tonight, waiting for you. Loveless will kidnap you, and then, he will kill you. I don't have time to explain everything. Take any necessary precaution to avoid that, please." He kissed his beloved grandfather's unshaven cheek and added, "I love you." He hugged him again, briefly. Then he glanced at Jim and at himself from the past and added, "It was a pleasure, Jim, thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, and take care of my grandfather."

He signaled Andamo to join him, and when he was standing in front of him, he repeated what Otepek had told him, "One body, one mind, one soul. My knowledge and experience will be added to yours." He closed his eyes and then touched the other Andamo's chest… 'I'm ready' he thought, waiting for Otepek to act… before vanishing into thin air.

Pause.

Utter silence.

Gasping, Andamo staggered for a few seconds, then, his face grayish, trembling in shock, he looked Jim and then at Artemus and said, "I have something to tell you, and it's… horrible."

WWW

 _Later that night_

Michelito Loveless and Voltaire both entered the Wanderer which was plunged in semi-darkness. Two lamps only lit the deserted parlor car. The shorter man sat on a couch, glancing around him, loving the luxurious interior, as the giant took his place in front of the door.

He smiled. It won't be long now," he told Voltaire. "We came across them coming here, in our carriage. They're on their way back to the train."

Cracking his knuckles Voltaire nodded. "I'm ready, Doctor."

Focused on the entrance door of the parlor car the two men didn't notice the door leading to the narrow walkway serving the rest of the train, open slowly, silently.

Suddenly a dozen armed soldiers rushed into the parlor car and aimed their rifles at Loveless and Voltaire, who were both totally astonished.

Colonel Harriman rejoined his men, grinning, very satisfied. "You're under arrest sir," he said to the shorter man who was still wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He looked up at Voltaire who was growling like a menacing bear, his fists tightened, ready to leap on the soldiers. "If he moves, shoot him!"

Loveless frowned, curious. "How did you know we were here? I took every precaution to ensure that no one could see us."

The door of the parlor car opened revealing Artemus Gordon, quickly followed by James West and Andamo, his hand on the butt of his gun.

The older Secret Service agent smiled broadly. "Ah! Dr. Loveless, Voltaire, it's nice to see you again – especially in the company of soldiers aiming their firearms at you." He turned toward the Colonel. "Good job, Sir." He opened the drawer of the writing table, pulling out two sets of handcuffs. "I have waited for this moment for a long time," he said. He closed the restraints on the prisoners' wrists, enjoying every second of it. "Now Colonel, bring these men out of the Wanderer and imprison them in a secure cell. I need to send a telegram to the President to tell him the good news, he'll be thrilled."

Loveless glared at Artie and said, "You won't keep me behind bars for long!" Then surrounded by troopers, he followed the Colonel outside.

WWW

 _Denver, later that night_

 _In the best saloon in the city_

Sipping his foamy beer, Jim chuckled. Andamo was having fun on the stage, dancing with the show girls even trying the French cancan but failing miserably. A few patrons booed him but he didn't care. The others were enjoying the spectacle whole-heartedly. He grinned. "Ah! Young people!" He turned to his left and looked at his partner, finding him lost in his thoughts, absently swirling the foamy amber liquid around the bottom of the glass. "Artie? You're being awful quiet. Everything okay?"

Blinking, coming back to Earth, Artie nodded still staring at the amber liquid. "Hum? Oh yes, yes. Everything's okay, Jim."

Placing his hand on Artemus's arm, Jim shook his head, knowing what was bugging his best friend. "Artie, please stop it. Stop thinking about what happened to the other us. They died, horribly, but not in reality, as nothing happened to them. To us." He frowned. "It's a bit complex… and I'm not sure I understood the whole story." He patted his partner's hand soothingly. "What's important is that we are alive. Without the other Andamo's warning, we'd be dead, Artie. You poisoned and I from heat and thirst. He saved us." He smiled and added, "Come on buddy! Let's celebrate! We're still here and it's Loveless's and Voltaire's first night in a cell – and the President gave us a commendation for that!"

Lifting his glass to his lips, Artie nodded. "You're right, past is past." Looking up at Andamo still dancing on the stage with the show girls, he took a big gulp of his cold beer and, as the whistles and the clapping rose in intensity.

He chuckled as his grandson was now wearing a blond wig; parts of a dress and a red feather boa was wrapped around his neck.

Elbowing Artie, Jim smiled and said, "Cross-dressing runs in the family I see."

Swallowing a new mouthful beer Artemus nodded. "It's a good start, but he has a lot to learn to pass for a woman, a lot."

Smiling Jim patted his friend's shoulder with affection, being delighted to have Artemus back in his usual good mood. "You'll have 5 days before we reach Washington to teach him whatever you want to Artie. Do you think he can cook?"

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Washington DC, railway station, 5 days later_

Dressed in his 1960's clothes Andamo entered the parlor car, his heart heavy, balancing between staying here in the past with Artie and Jim, a little longer, to have more fun with them and going back to his own time period, to his home on board the _Fortuna II_ , and to Lucky, his best friend, partner and surrogate big brother. He missed him and his life there. Poor Lucky he was probably thinking he had vanished into thin air and that he was probably dead… It was time to go back home, he thought.

He moved toward Jim and hugged him. "Thank you very much for everything Jim, that was fun!" He smiled when Jim ruffled his hair playfully and hugged him back. "I'm going to keep all this in mind till I die. I had a great time, oh boy! That was just great! Amazing!"

Parting from the younger man Jim chuckled. "Take care, Andamo. We'll see each other again, in future years."

Andamo nodded. "Yes, you're right. Take care too, Jim." He pivoted and looked at Artemus. The older man was moved to tears. He noticed too that Artie was holding a small flat wooden and varnished box in his hands. Intrigued he frowned and then asked, "What's that?"

Glancing at the box and then looking at his grandson, Artemus smiled. "It's a present for you my boy, a souvenir from your stay here with us. A useful present."

The Latino took the box and opened it. "It's a gun!" he exclaimed, surprised. It contained a small-sized, double-barreled, shiny silver gun with a walnut grip. The initials AG were engraved on each side of the butt. He shook his head and said, "It's yours, I can't accept… you need it, grandfather."

Shaking his head, Artie said, "It's yours now." He smiled and added, "I possess other guns like that, and it's a Remington model 95. The gun uses only .41 Short rimfire ammunition so you won't probably find any bullets for it 1960. Be careful, Andamo, it's loaded. The bullets are slow, but at close range they can kill. And the initials are the same as yours, my boy."

Still frowning, Andamo said, "But my name is Cárdenas."

Smiling, Artie nodded. "Not on your birth certificate, my boy, it's Gordon. You can change Cárdenas to Gordon if you want to, now that you are living in the US."

Pause.

Smiling too, Andamo nodded in his turn. "You're right. I never thought about it… it's a good idea, but I need to think about it."

Wiping tears away with the back of his hand, Artie said, "It's a small gun, I know, but it's effective in good hands my boy. I'm sure that you'll make good use of it, Andamo. Besides, it's a discreet gun. You can hide it more easily that a .45 in your jacket."

Smiling, Andamo closed the box and slid it into the right pocket of his pants. "Thank you very much." Then he wrapped his arms tightly around the older man. "I'm going to miss you…" Tears rolled down his cheeks too. He took a step back then bowed in deep respect, his hand on his heart. "It was an honor and a pleasure to share a little time with you," he concluded.

Suddenly, he vanished into thin air.

WWW

 _On board the Fortuna II_

Lucky couldn't believe his own eyes. Andamo, who had vanished from the surface of the Earth for a whole week, was there in front of him, leaning against the rail of the fantail. The Latino, he noticed a bit puzzled,, was looking around him, beaming, visibly overjoyed.

He joined him with long strides, almost running, feeling immensely relieved. "Andamo!" He took the younger man in his arms and pressed him against his chest for a moment. "Oh God! You're here, safe." He finally parted from the other man and ruffled his hair with affection. "Where the hell have you been Andamo? Everyone's been looking for you since you left the Museum, the police, the FBI, and me!"

Blinking, Andamo paled. 'Oh boy! I'm in serious trouble then', he thought. He slumped onto one of the chairs. "I think I need a cigarette Lucky." Instead of taking out his cigarette case, he lowered his hand into the right pocket of his pants and pulled out the box containing the Derringer and grimaced. "Ooops! Wrong pocket."

He was ready to put it back in place when Lucky intercepted his best friend's hand. "It's the first time I've seen that box. What's inside?"

Looking at Artemus's present, Andamo replied, "It's a souvenir," and he placed the box on a round table. "I suppose I have to tell you what happened…?"

Lucky nodded. "Tell me the whole story, compadre."

The younger man lied, "After I saw all those old things in the Museum… I had the irrepressible urge to go to Mexico, to see my parents. Not because they are old too, but to collect some souvenirs from my family to have them with me here, on board."

The tall, dark-haired man frowned angrily. "You were in Mexico visiting your parents? Why didn't you call me to tell me? I was dead worried Andamo!"

Feigning remorse Andamo nodded. "I know. I should have told you… I'm sorry, Lucky. I should have called you, but it was very sudden, and urgent and an irrepressible desire to leave all this – the _Fortuna II_ , you, my life here - behind me for a while, to be again that little Latino I was before I became your best friend and partner, before I chose to 'Americanize' myself. I needed a break Lucky, I needed to be with my family. I was homesick. You understand?"

Lucky relaxed and smiled. "That's okay buddy, I understand. But next time you have a pre-midlife crisis, use a phone to call me, okay?"

The younger nodded, smiling. "I will, I promise."

Lucky took the wooden box in his hand and asked, "May I open it Andamo?"He was curious to see what was inside.

Andamo smiled. "Be my guest."

Lucky pulled out the Remington model 95 and admired it. "Nice Derringer. Very handy in a pocket." He noticed the initials engraved in the butt and frowned. "AG?"

Andamo took the small gun in his hand. 'Come on, just another lie'. "AG for Artemus Gordon, my paternal grandfather. This gun was his." Looking at the Derringer then back at Lucky, he said, "Lucky, I'd like to change my name from Cárdenas to Gordon."

Lucky was surprised. "Why?"

Placing the small gun back in his box, Andamo replied, "Because, as you know, it's my your original birth name, my name is Andamo Gordon."

The end


End file.
